


"Bucky, Steve Doesn't Live Here Anymore...."

by WordsAreMusicForTheEyes



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awkward Boners, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Eventual Sex, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gets kind of intense, Lost Bucky Barnes, POV Second Person, PTSD, Reader-Insert, Recovery from trauma, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Some Humor, You've gotta a friend in Steve..., bucky is adorable, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAreMusicForTheEyes/pseuds/WordsAreMusicForTheEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've had a pretty rough day at work, so you decide to completely obliterate your supply of ice-cream and have a self-indulgent soak in the tub when you get home. </p>
<p>However, upon arrival at your apartment, you find the door open-signs of it being shoved against. Thinking it's a fairly hapless criminal, you root around in your bag for that handy  little pepper spray, and go in shouting a warning-your little pepper spray at the ready.</p>
<p>You then discover the intruder is no mere criminal, but one very lost and confused ex-assassin super soldier who doesn't respond well to yelled threats...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Intruder

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo there! This is my first fiction-I'm a newcomer to the site. I'm kind of nervous about posting this, but I thought I'd just go for it. My Bucky Barnes obsession requires an outlet! ^.^ this first chapter will be a short-ish one, I'm kind of testing the waters, seeing how people will respond (if they do, hehe). After that, the chapters will be much longer.
> 
> Would appreciate any feedback, whether it be comments on the story or handy tips on improving my writing :)

You're walking back from the cafe, occasionally peering up the inky black sky for no real reason, other than you're so familiar with the route back to your apartment building-you know the position of every potential obstacle.

Today has been particularly hectic. From some stuck-up guy bitching at you about how dry the carrot cake was (as though it were _**your**_ fault!) to your blatantly PMS-ing manager grilling your proverbial chops over a slightly over-toasted panini. Nope, today is best forgotten. And you have the perfect solution in mind. You've got a carton of [favourite ice-cream flavour] ice-cream, sitting in your freezer, awaiting your return. You intend to eat the whole thing and watch something stupid but funny on your Netflix. You sure as hell have earned it after today. And to really top if off, you're going to have a long, hot soak in a bubble bath (because who needs to feel sad when you can make amusing shapes with foam!) and then crawl into bed to sleep like a log.

You trudge up the stairwell, motivated by the siren song of your much needed ice cream. You reach your floor and practically skip to your door-but then you come to a sudden, jarring halt. Your stomach flips and you break out in a cold sweat.  Your apartment door is half open, the lock hanging off and the door frame badly damaged. Who the hell could create that kind of havoc? Anxiety dances its chilling dance up your spine, making you shiver in your jacket. You try and reason it out, insist it's just some hopelessly incompetent criminal who'll probably break their leg leaping out of a fourth floor window. You've seen enough Youtube videos of complete goons like that.

You resolve to take matters into your own hands, slip your bag from your shoulder and root around for that little can of pepper spray you keep **_just in_ _case_**...

Taking a deep breath and squaring your shoulders, you hold out the pepper spray, finger at the ready to press down and douse the intruder in the face. You throw open your door, barging and yell, " GET THE HELL OUT OF MY APARTMENT, ASS-HAT, OR I'LL CALL THE COPS!" You barely hear footsteps, making it all the more astonishing when you find yourself being rammed into the wall by the intruder...

The assailant happened to shove you against your kitchen/dining room light switch, revealing to you a bedraggled young-ish man with straggly dark hair, some major stubble and grubby street clothes. You feel a hand pushing your shoulder to the wall and something cold, and metallic, wrapped around your throat. You peer down, your eyes straining, and realise there are metal fingers keeping you in a firm neck-hold. The man is staring at you through narrowed eyes, and is breathing rapidly. He barks something at you in a foreign language, his accent aggressive and guttural. His eyes narrow to slits, and he shakes you vigorously. He barks the same words, even more fiercely.

"I-I don't understand!" You cry, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your head away. It's getting trickier to breathe with the intruder's metal hand compressing your throat. "P-please let me go! Please!" You beg, tears leaking from your eyes and rolling down your cheeks. You were having a shitty day. Now this is the metaphorical cherry on the turd-pile. 

"Where's Steve? Who are you? Where is _**Steve**_?!" He growls in your face. You open your eyes, and slowly turn your head back to look the guy square in the face. This action seems to earn a response from him, and he loosens his grip on your throat.

"Steve _**Rogers**_?" Your tone of voice surprisingly inquisitive for someone being pinned against a wall by an incredibly strong, damn-near six foot man with a fricking metal arm.

"Yes, Steve Rogers! Where is he? Who are you?" His voice carries a trace of desperation, which shows in his eyes widening in fear. You find yourself staring into those oddly beautiful blue pool, then mentally scold yourself for getting distracted. You also realise who your assailant is, and begin to comprehend the magnitude of your current situation. You feel like you've been thrown into a bag of very irriated cats.

"You're Bucky, aren't you?" You tentatively ask, praying that doesn't act as a trigger for violence. Thankfully, it doesn't incite any negative reaction. If anything, he becomes more vulnerable. Bucky's lovely eyes flicker from side to side, searching your face for some kind of answer. You can practically see the array of emotions bombarding him.

"I think-yes. Yes. That's...that's what he called me. I didn't know at first. But... I started to remember. Memories...drifting to the surface-I don't know what to do. I need Steve..." He spoke hoarsely, barely above a whisper.

"The thing is, Bucky...Steve doesn't live here anymore..."

 

 


	2. Helping Bucky Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So after realising that guy who's broken into your apartment is, in fact, Bucky Barnes A.KA.the fricking Winter Soldier, expecting to see his best friend/ex-mission objective Steve Rogers-what do you do? You figure he's confused and scared and needs somewhere safe to stay until you can get Steve to sort this out.
> 
> However, Bucky's first night at your place is not without mishaps. Hormonal chaos ensues, mainly in the form of Bucky in a loosely wrapped bath towel (and nothing else), finding yourself in a compromising position with Bucky after a misunderstanding involving your microwave and, of course, Bucky being slightly angsty but damn adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Whoop whoop! And as promised, much longer than the first. With a plentiful abundance of Bucky ;D
> 
> Enjoy!

"He doesn't-where is he? Where's Steve?" Bucky shakes you again, but with less conviction than he did before.

"He told me he was moving into the Avengers' Tower! Y'know, with Tony Stark and those guys! Would you ** _please_  **let me go?" You say hastily, to try and hurry along this improtu interrogation. 

Bucky, who has at long last acknowledged you're not a threat, releases you. You reach up to rub your throat, but wince at the tenderness of your flesh, and then take a few cautious steps into your apartment so as not to provoke your unstable guest. The pepper spray can you'd so confidently wielded was lying in front of the fridge, after having been dropped when Bucky tackled you at the door. Bucky himself takes a few steps, peering around, as though assessing his environment and the situation.

"How do you know who I am?" He asks quietly, breaking the dazed silence. You're still looking at the pepper spray, not with any intention of using it, simply absent-mindedly.

"Steve told me about you, we'd talk a lot when he was helping me bring my stuff in." You explain. Before you know it, you're turning to look at him and tell him, "He's still holding out hope for you, Bucky. I mean, he's been searching high and low for you since the Helicarrier business-him and some guy, Sam, I think he mentioned. If that's not loyalty, I don't know what is." Bucky appears to consider this for a moment.

"He's always been loyal...I think I remember. My friend. My **best** friend." He nods to himself, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He's pressed himself into the corner of your kitchen/dining room, probably to dispel the worry of an enemy sneaking up on him. "You know about me, but I don't even know who you are." He remarks.

"You're right. That must be pretty weird. I'm [Your Name]. Um...nice to meet you, I guess?" You hold out your hand, but much to your regret, realise that hand and arm belongs to your throbbing shoulder. You let out an indrawn hiss of discomfort and clutch at it with your other hand. Bucky's face is plastered with guilt at the sight of you in pain.

"I've hurt you..." He whispers ruefully.

"Relax, it's fine. Nothing I can't get over. Don't get hung up on it, you got scared-"

"I've hurt you." He repeats, louder, more sorrowful. " I'm a monster! Steve should...he should have let me die! He should never have helped me! Not after all I've done! I tried to **_kill him_** -my **_best_** _ **friend**_ **!** And he _**helped**_ me!" It tears your heart to see this poor, broken man falling apart in front of you. You quickly take the initiative to calm him down, and walk towards him steadily.

"Hey, hey, don't say that, Bucky. **You** were being used by HYDRA. Those things you did, you **had** to do. You did none of them of your own volition, they used you like a goddamn **_puppet_** and you still managed to break through their sick programming! Bucky, Steve didn't let you die because he could see his best friend was still in there-" To emphasise your point, you daringly touch him on his chest, roughly in the area around his heart. He doesn't push you away, and instead stares at you through oily strands of his dark hair that have fallen into his face. "Besides. You were the one who dove into the water and saved him from drowning. You tell me, would a 'monster' do that?" You say to him with steely determination.

"No..." He whispers again, able to deduce the unspoken answer to your question from the stern expression on your face. "I saved him? I saved him. ' ** _I'm with you til the end of the_ _line_** '. He said....and I remembered." The tiniest glimpse of a smile appears on his face, and he looks to you for reassurance. You smile tenderly at him.

"You did, Bucky. You did." Your voice carries as much warmth as you can muster. Bucky looks as though you've filled him with the heat of the sun itself. "How about we get you cleaned up and in some new clothes? Maybe get you something to eat, huh?" You add. He nods meekly, his smile widening ever so slightly.

 

 

 

You retrieve a towel for Bucky and show him to the bathroom. It could use a clear-up, seeing as there's the usual clutter of hygiene products. You're fairly certain there is a shower tray underneath the ever amassing collection of gels, moisturizers and shampoos. The poor guy is going to have to navigate his way through, but at least he'll have no shortage of Blossom and Juiper Berry shampoo or Cranberry and Walnut Shell exfoliating scrub. The cornerstone of any super-soldier's showering routine(!)

You have to give him a brief demo on how to switch the shower on to get the right temperature, and then make a point of showing him the electric shaver your ex-boyfriend left behind. Bucky may be one of those guys who can pull off stubble, but there is a point where it looks...well... **scruffy**. He nods at you in appreciation when you finally hand him the towel.

"Well, I better leave you to get on with it. I'm gonna go find some fresh clothes for you." And with that, you exit the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Instead of searching for new clothing for Bucky, you go into your living room and pick your bag up off the sofa. After a moment or two of digging around, you triumphantly pull your phone out of the Mary Poppins-like depths of your bag. Hurriedly, you switch it on and start scrolling through your contacts.  _ **Steve** **Rogers**_ you see at last. With a deep breath, you silently pray he'll answer and make the call.

"Hey, [Your Name]. Everything okay? I've not heard from you in a while?" Steve's voice replies, that familiar smooth, deep timbre making you breathe a sigh of relief.

"Ah, Steve. Thank God you answered. I'm okay, I guess, but-well...I've got a slight problem-" You say awkwardly.

"[Your Name], what's going on? Is someone there? Nobody's trying to hurt you, are they?" Steve demands, barely disguised concern in his tone.

"Oh no! No no no! Nothing of the sort...well...there _**is** _ someone here...but that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. It's kind of...well...problematic in **one sense** , but reassuring in another-" You find yourself hedging like crazy.

"Who is this 'someone'?" Steve asks, but the urgency in his voice tells you he knows, deep down. He **_needs_** it to be **this particular person**. 

"Bucky. Bucky's here, Steve." You tell him. There's silence on the other end, and for a moment, you think Steve's hung up the phone, overhwelmed by a torrent of emotion. Then you hear a shaky exhale of breath.

"Thank...thank you for calling me, [Your Name]. Am I okay to come over now or...?" He politely waits for your confirmation.

"I'm sorry to do this to you, Steve, but I think maybe it would be best to come tomorrow morning. He's still on-edge. Seeing you may either be cathartic or..." You pause, searching for the right word.

"Distressing?" He fills in, dolefully.

"Yeah. I'm so, so sorry. I just...I kinda scared of him freaking out. I figure, maybe some rest might help him? I don't know. I'm honestly not sure how his mind is working right now, but at least for now, he seems reasonably calm. Still, I am sorry for making you wait, but-"

"No, no, it's the right thing to do. I shouldn't be trying to rush things, Bucky needs time." You hear him sigh audibly. " Thank you, [Your Name]. For helping him." He adds with heart-warming sincerity.

"Don't worry about it. He's been through a shit-load. I'm happy to keep an eye on him. If it's any consolation, Steve, he talked about you. He remembers you. The memories are coming back to him." You take great joy in telling him.

"Thank you." He says simply but warmly. Your face splits into a huge smile, and you beam as though he's crooned an entire song to express his gratitude.

 

 

After bidding farewell to Steve, you return to the bedroom, and start your search for spare clothing that would fit Bucky. Opening the wardrobe, you reluctantly pull out the black garbage bag full of the clothes your douche of an ex also, quite conveniently, left behind. You tear the bag open and tip the contents out onto the bed. T-shirts, a pair of jeans, some sweatpants, a couple of pairs of boxer shorts and rolled-up socks are now scattered across your duvet. You pluck at the t-shirts contemptuously, recalling how your ex so arrogantly thought his 'bod' looked 'hot' in them after a few months of pumping iron at the gym, and that you could start to see the outline of a six pack. You'd snidely told him that the only six pack he had was at the back of the fridge. You are promptly pulled from your bitter thoughts when the sound of the electric shaver stops, and the bathroom door opens soon after. In fact,  you're not sure you're thinking at all, but simply gawking at Bucky. He's got the bath towel very loosely wrapped around his waist. And nothing else...

Bucky stands in the doorway, his magnificent muscular torso on full display. You barely notice the metal limb, seeing as you're too occupied with ogling the rest of him. His real arm is thick with muscle, not too thick-just the right amount to make you stare. The definition of his abs is truly a thing of beauty, and the slight swell of his pecs causes you to involuntarily open your mouth. There's a damp sheen across his torso, and beads of water are dripping from his wet locks of hair onto his broad shoulders, and running down those eminently kiss-able pecs and toned stomach muscles in glossy rivulets. You're fairly certain you've got a glossy rivulet running down your chin at this point, but fortunately, you haven't entirely lost all composure.

"Um....um....I....I...um...found you some clothes..." You stammer dumbly, pointing in the vague direction of the bed. _**Now I need to find my dignity**_ , you think to yourself. When you actually decide to look his face, you lose all hope of maintaining a flow of conversation.

Shaving his stubble has had an almost magical effect on Bucky. You see smooth, if slightly pale, skin, and a strong jawline. There's a small dimple beneath his delectable, lush pouty lips-that seem to have an incredible soft pink hue. You wonder if they'd feel as silky as they looked, grazing gently across your cheek and neck. And those damn beautiful, puppy-dog blue eyes, framed with black lashes, regarding you with intrigue.

"[Your Name]...are you okay?" He inquires, in his deep, slightly raspy voice. **_No, Bucky, you've ruptured my fricking ovaries, you gorgeous_ _bast_ _ard_** , you reply mentally.

"Yes, yes, I'm good, thank you!" Is what you **actually** say. "Look, I hit the jackpot here. Underwear, t-shirts, jeans, you name it! Here-" You pick up a crumpled pair of boxer shorts and proffer them in his direction. He makes his way over to you, and takes the underwear.

"Thank you." He says softly. You smile at him, because it would be a crime against the universe **not** to smile at that stunning face. Bucky's eyes linger on your face, not assessing you-but, perhaps, studying the intricacies that work together in harmony to create your features. His eyes appear to smile at you, small creases materialising at the outers corners.

"You're-you're probably getting chilly. I can leave so you can-oh!" You nervously gabble before gasping, and swivelling your head to the side to avert your eyes. Bucky had quite nonchalantly removed his towel so he could slip the boxers on.

"They fit." He informs you, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

"Bucky, a little warning would have been appreciated. I mean, I'm glad you feel comfortable and all but-but-but-" It's occured to you that you're starting to sound like a somewhat horny stuck record. Though who can blame you? Bucky fills out those boxer shorts a lot better than your ex did.  _ **A** **lot**_. He picks up the single pair of jeans from the bed and turns around to start pulling them on. _**Holy** **buttcakes** _ , you practically squeak inside your own skull. Bucky has been blessed with not only a generous package, but also a glorious butt. _**They're like two spectacular, ripe apples of pure** **hot-ness**_ , you shriek inside your head. As soon as he pulls a t-shirt over his head, blushing furiously, you make the suggestion-

"How about we make you something to eat, huh?"

 

Bucky follows you into the kitchen, but stands a metre or so away from as you lean down to hunt around in the fridge. You need to go grocery shopping tomorrow, and there's only a carton of Minestrone soup. Your supply of fresh bread was decimated a few days ago, so there's nothing to bulk the meal out. 

"I'm sorry, I've only got some soup. Is that okay?" You twist your head round to apologise. Bucky had been staring at something, or had zoned out, because he snapped to attention abruptly when you spoke.

"Um...soup's good. Thank you. Me and Steve...I think...we sometimes ended up going without dinner. We didn't have a lot of money. I remember...counting coins...seeing if I had enough to buy bread. If I'd been paid...I would try-try to get Steve a treat..." He recalls, his brows furrowing together in concentration.

"I'm sure he appreciated that, Bucky. You looked after him well. He told me that, too. Took care of him when he was sick, tried to keep him out of fights-" You say kindly, but Bucky, not impolitely, interrupts.

"But failed." He chuckles. The sound is unusual to him, because he quickly jerks his head back in vexation. "He was....a stubborn **_punk_**." A delighted smile spreads across his face. You grin in shared celebration.

"He still is." You add. Bucky chuckles again. "Let's get this soup warmed up for you, Bucky." You pull the carton out of the fridge, and fetch a bowl from a cupboard. After tipping the soup into the porcelain bowl you carefully place it in your microwave, twisting the dial to set the time. You suddenly feel body heat close to you, and notice that Bucky is stood right next to you. He's eyeing the microwave with an expression that perfectly combines curiosity, bewilderment and mistrust.

"What...is this?" He asks, pointing warily at the appliance.

"It's a microwave, Bucky. It...um...heats stuff up. I'm gonna take the plunge and guess you never saw one of these, because they weren't around in your...um...time?" You have to suppress the urge to giggle, seeing as this is probably unnerving for him. You imagine how disorientating it would be if you woke up seventy years in the future. Bucky may have been active on occasion through the seventy years, carrying out his mission objectives as the Winter Soldier, but he was getting his memory wiped constantly. It's hardly a surprise advancements in domestic technology are a mystery to him.

"How...how do you work it?" He queries you.

"Oh, um. Well. All you do is, check how long whatever food you're heating up needs to be in for and check the power the microwave needs to be at. Then,put your food-in this case, your soup-in a 'microwave safe' dish, put it in, turn the dial, press 'start' and-" You push the START button and the microwave kicks into action. " Voila!" You add with a flourish. "Nice and simple. Hey, I'll get your drink sorted. Just...um...relax, I guess." You gesture vaguely with a flick of your wrist, before stretching up to one of the cupboards above the kitchen units, grabbing a large glass and proceeding to fill it with water. You spin on your heel and set it down on the table, and return your attention to Bucky. He's poised cautiously, hands on his knees, watching the microwave working. He's awfully close, and your mom's minature lecture on standing in front of microwaves replays in your head.

For some unbeknown reason, you rush towards him, flustering, " Ah! Bucky! Don't! Don't stand in front-OOF!" Too late you remember that it is highly unwise to start rushing at someone who has been intensely trained in combat and is currently twitchy around sudden movement. Bucky, for the second time this night, launches himself at you. This time he pins you against the floor, holding your arms above your head, your wrists in his vice-like grip. His face is contorted and he snarls in the same foreign language he used when he accosted you at the door.

"Bucky! Bucky, I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! That was stupid of me! I just-I was just gonna tell you not to stand in front of the microwave. I'd forgotten to tell you. It's dangerous. Radiation and all that jazz. I'm sorry for running at you, Bucky." You say, as sweetly as you can, to try and placate him. His expression softens almost immediately.

"[Your Name]?" He seeks affirmation in a hushed tone.

"It's me, Bucky, it's [Your Name]. I wasn't going to hurt you, I swear on my life. I was stupid, I just...I wanted to tell you to back away from the microwave, that's all. I didn't mean to startle you. It's okay, Bucky." You tell him soothingly, your body trembling beneath his.

"I-I'm sorry, [Your Name]." Bucky shakes his head, ashamed of his automatic response. His grip on your wrists eases up considerably, and he looks into your eyes imploringly. You gaze up into his.

"Bucky, it's okay..." You insist, not entirely unhappy with your current position. He's on top of you, your bodies pressed together, and his crotch mere millimetres above yours. You feel the firmness of his chest against the softness of your own. Bucky is returning your tender gaze with equal ardour. Strands of his damp hair tickle your face, and you breathe in the sweet, delicate fragrance of the shampoo he's used. You definitely aren't unhappy with this. Until you feel something digging into the juncture between your pelvis and thigh.

"Bucky, have you got a knife on you?" You ask him, aghast.

"No." He looks affronted, drawing his head back.

"Then why can I feel something pressing into my-oh." You blush, now **_extremely_ ** flattered. You bite your lower lip, peering up at your handsome guest through half-lidded eyes, " Oh, Bucky. You know how to compliment a girl, you saucy devil." You tease him playfully.

His expression is priceless. You wish you had a camera to capture just how incredible it is. His face is a picture of mortification, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks. He leaps up from his position on top of you and stumbles back, gracelessly, into the small dining table.

"I-I-um...I'm sorry." He mumbles. "I shouldn't....that wasn't....I didn't mean to-" The fact that you have not only 'excited' this magnificent specimen of the male gender but rendered him inarticulate makes you feel pretty damn awesome. You sit up, smiling wryly at him.

"Oh, Bucky, you can't control _**that** _. It's just a natural reaction, remember. Hey, no complaints from me. You've just boosted my ego by a tenfold. Don't be ashamed, you certainly have a **_super-soldier_** down there." You push yourself up and get back on your feet. Bucky's red face turns an endearing shade of crimson.

"Oo, and I think your soup is done. Ready to eat?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter. It did mainly consist of Bucky-adoration, but hey, if it didn't...would it truly be a Bucky/Reader fic? :D I have an unhealthy addiction to those baby blues and the dark tangle of hair :3
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Three, folks!


	3. Ice-Cream and Lullabies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Bucky's state of mind seemingly becoming more lucid, you're feeling fairly optimistic about his recovery and Steve's visit in the morning. 
> 
> However, his vulnerability makes itself known, and you try your best to console him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three, people! I hope I do not disappoint :D and apologies for the extensive wait :3
> 
> As you can tell, the tension (the good kind *wink wink*) between Bucky and 'Reader' is mounting. This will be resolved...in time :p I'm drawing it out a little, but I promise it'll be worth the wait!
> 
> There are some Bucky-feels in this chapter, so brace yourselves >.

"Enjoying your soup, Bucky?" You inquire, your eyebrow quirking up at him. He's hunched over the bowl, virtually ladling the minestrone into his mouth. Realising you've just asked him a question, he pauses, spoon hovering in mid-air. He peers up at you furtively through his dark chocolate locks. His hair has, for the most part, dried, so it has a gorgeous shine to it.

"I-um, yes. Thank you." He says sheepishly. You find yourself smirking a little.

"Good. It wasn't **that** difficult to tell, if I'm honest." You tell him, affectionately. You suddenly remember your ice-cream, patiently waiting in the freezer for you to devour it in its entirety. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and insert my face into a tub of ice-cream." You announce, getting up at a steady pace so as not to panic Bucky. As you delve into the freezer section of your refrigerator, you can hear the clinking of Bucky's spoon against the bowl become less frequent.

"Me and Steve ate ice cream at Coney Island." He reminisces.

"Oh? What was your favourite flavour?" You ask.

"[Your favourite ice-cream flavour]." He recalls with a wistful sigh. "Used to drip down the cone and soak through the napkin. Steve would laugh at me...because I'd put my head back and hold it over my mouth. I would tell him...I would tell him I wasn't wasting any of it..." Judging by the alteration in his voice, you can tell he's smiling.

"Well, Bucky, you're in luck." You pull out the tub of ice-cream and place it down on the table. His eyes light up. "Guess we both have awesome taste in sweet treats, huh? Tell you what, when you're finished with that soup, wanna share this with me? See if it tastes as good as you remember?" You offer, tugging a drawer open, picking up two spoons and wagging them from side to side in his direction. Bucky, miraculously, manages to shovel down the rest of his soup without spilling a single drop, and then holds out the bowl as if for you to examine.

"I think I'm ready for some ice-cream." He tells you with a mischievous grin...

 

Before you know it, you're tumbling back onto the couch, prising the lid off the moderately sized tub of ice-cream and switching on your TV via the remote control. Bucky approaches the sofa, guardedly, and sits down slowly-surveying the area. He's sat at arm's length from you.

"Bucky." You call his name to get his attention.

"Yes?"

"You're gonna have to sit closer than that if you want to share this bad boy." You shake the tub of ice cream, and then proceed to hold out the second spoon for him. He stares at you for a few seconds, then shuffles along the couch. Now he's so close, your legs are touching, and the briefest shiver travels through your body at this small gesture of physical contact. _**Now that's more like it** _ , you think elatedly. "There we go. That's better. I swear I don't bite." You say out loud as he accepts the spoon you've been holding out to him. It seems he almost deliberately touches your hand, warm, tapered fingers brushing over your skin. You twitch, a barely noticeable reaction to the majority of people, but Bucky sees. He doesn't utter a word about it.

"Hey, let's watch something dumb on Netflix!" You propose, hastily switching it on and running through the extensive list of comedies.

"This is...so different to what we used to have-" Bucky remarks, plaintively. "We didn't even have colour television." 

"Aw, Bucky." You sigh empathically. "Am I making you uncomfortable? I can only begin to imagine what it's like for you...do you...do you want to do something else? " You glance down at the floor, feeling guilty.

"Oh. No. No, I'm fine. Really. I can...kinda recall when colour television came out. But it was when I was-" He comes to a grinding halt, his mouth open but the words caught in his throat. Uneasily, he pushes his tongue against the ridge of his mouth and takes a deep breath. " _ **Him**_. The.... _ **Soldier**_." He spits out the last word with unbridled loathing. Anxiously, you put down your ice-cream and spoon on the end table beside the couch, and gently clasp his metal hand in your own. He swivels his head round and looks at you intently. You brush your thumb over the metallic imitations of knuckles and speak soothingly.

"You were. But now you're the real _**you**_. You're James Buchanan Barnes. You're the person HYDRA _**failed**_ to eradicate. You're Bucky." With your free hand, you carefully push back a lock of hair from his face and tuck it behind his ear. He flinches at your touch, and then closes his eyes, because-you suspect-it's been a long time since anyone has touched him without the express intention of hurting him. You soon see small tears roll down his cheeks.

"You're gonna be alright, Bucky. You're safe now." You lightly swipe away his tears with the pads of your fingers. It would be so easy to lean forward and plant a small, chaste kiss on his lips or cheek...but you feel that would be taking advantage of him in his visibly upset state. Instead, you decide to cup his face with your hand. Your heart swells when he tilts his head and leans into it, inhaling deeply and calmly. "What say we have that ice cream before it turns to [your favourite ice cream flavour] soup?" That earns a sweet smile from Bucky.

 

You settle to watch **_Blades of Glory_** because it's just simple, silly fun whilst the two of you demolish the ice-cream. In retrospect, you find it a slightly bizarre situation. Sharing ice-cream and watching TV with the ex-HYDRA assassin who broke into your apartment about an hour or so ago. But weirder things happen, right? And there's a major, over-riding bonus- **_He's scalding hot_** , you remind yourself. _**Oh, and he is emotionally unstable and suffering from trauma, so therefore greatly in need of compassion and counselling....but he's hot, too** _ , you also think.

After about three quarters of an hour into the movie, Bucky becomes increasingly bewildered by Will Ferrell.

"He confuses me. I don't know why. Is that...abnormal? Perhaps it's because I'm from the forties...?" He contemplates.

"Oh, no, don't worry about it. Will Ferrell confuses people in general." You assure him, gesturing into mid-air with your spoon. "Just ride with it, Bucky."

"If you say so." He replies, still uncertain.

"Tell you what, I'm gonna go have a bath before I hit the sack-unless you want to share that with me too, I can put another movie on for you?" You say without thinking, then turn scarlet when it dawns on you that you possibly just hit on Bucky. You stare at the wall, mouth open, appalled at your spontaneous lack of filter between 'Things You Can Say' and 'Things That NOBODY Should Hear'. Bucky looks very slightly bemused, and you swear you see the corner of his mouth quirk upwards.

"Take me out on a date first, doll." He suddenly quips. He looks momentarily startled by his own words.

"Oh, God, Bucky...I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking..." You clap your hand to your forehead, and drop your head in embarrassment.

"It's fine, [Your Name]. What happened earlier...when I pinned you down...that was **_much_** worse..." He consoles you, bashfully. "But yes, perhaps another movie? If...you don't mind? I don't really know what to make of these modern movies-"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure thing, Bucky. How about a thirties classic, huh?" You quickly say to avoid the awkwardness as much as possible.

 

You leave Bucky absorbed in **_The Wizard of Oz_ ** , allowing him to indulge in nostalgia, to go and have a relaxing bath. You perch on the edge of the tub, watching the streams of rushing water pour from each tap. You contemplate how events will transpire tomorrow morning with Steve's visit. It could prove to be beneficial to Bucky's recovery or could destabilise him. But judging by how he's already progressing, you're very hopeful the visit will help him. Thinking about the visit reminds you that you should really tell Bucky, so he isn't startled by his best friend's arrival.

After your bath, you feel refreshed and chilled out. Once you've dried off, you slip on your pyjamas and pad through into the living room. The movie is still playing, but Bucky's dozing peacefully, head leant back against the couch, breathing deeply. You tiptoe over to him.

"Bucky?" You call, so softly you would hardly be surprised if he didn't hear.

"Bucky?" You repeat, very slightly louder. The ex-assasin jolts awake, looking around fearfully. You gasp and stumble backwards. "Crap! Sorry, Bucky. I just...I thought you'd want to get ready for bed. Get a proper night's sleep. I didn't mean to startle you, **_yet again_**."

"No, no, it's fine. I should get ready." He acknowledges, standing up.

"Okay. I have a spare toothbrush lying around somewhere. And you can use those sweatpants I found in my wardrobe as pyjamas."

"Thank you. Should I-take the couch for the night?" He asks you, timidly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You could but-" You hesitate, sucking on your teeth in momentary thought. " You could share my bed. I don't-I'm not trying to, like...just-don't take that in the wrong way. I just figured it would be good to have someone near you." You interlace the fingers of each hand together in a nervous gesture.

"I'm not sure if that would be a good idea-" He begins. You try and hide your hurt and embarrassment.

"Oh, no, of course. It-it came off as inappropriate, I know..." You say.

"It's not that, I would gladly share with you. It's just...the thing is...I have nightmares. Bad nightmares. I wake up...I scream...but sometimes I wake up angry and want-want to **_hurt_ ** someone because I'm scared..." He confides in you, his blue eyes wide and fearful. You feel that rush of affection for him.

"All the more reason for you to stay with me. You shouldn't have to go through this alone. If you wake up, I'll wake up and stay up with you, help you settle down. We'll get you through this." You reach forward and take his hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

 

" It won't just be me helping you, actually. I have to confess, Bucky, I should have told you earlier....I called Steve while you were showering and explained the situation. He's, um, coming to visit tomorrow morning. I'm sorry for not telling you and kinda going behind your back." Your expression conveys your shame and guilt, and you glance down at the floor, worried about how Bucky will react.

"Steve's coming tomorrow morning?" Bucky asks in a voice that sounds vague and distant.

"Yes." You confirm.

"That's...that's good. I'm glad. Thanks for telling me, [Your Name]." He squeezes your hand in return, instead of removing it from your grip like you anticipated.

"You're not mad?" Your eyes widen in cautious but pleasant surprise.

"No, not at all. I need to see him. I need to talk to him. It might help. Might help me remember **more**." Bucky tells you, almost matter-of-factly. "Do you think he'll forgive me...for what I did? For what I **_tried_ ** to do to him?" He frets.

"He will. He **_does_ **. Steve knows you weren't acting of your own accord, Bucky. He wanted to come and see you **_today_ ** he's so eager to talk to you again. But...I advised against it, because I thought it might, I guess, unsettle you." You say. Bucky simply nods slowly, considering what you've said.

"C'mon, Bucky. Let's go get some shut-eye. You've been through a hell of a time and I-I've had one weird ass day." You sigh deeply, your shoulders drooping from exhaustion. You switch off the the TV and start walking to your bedroom, noticing that Bucky always seems to wait patiently for you to take the lead when you both move to a different room. You're tactful enough not to remark upon it.

 

Handing your guest the spare sweatpants and toohbrush, you smile reassuringly at him, "Don't look so worried, Bucky. If you wake up, you won't be alone. I'm here with you."

"That's just it. What if I wake up and try to hurt you?" His expression is that of apprehension.

"I'll chew that food when I have to. I'll tell you who you are, who I am, try and remind you your safe. Whatever I can think of." Your face pinches in cogitation. "Please don't hurt me too much." You add, with a shaky, fleeting laugh.

"I would never hurt you. I don't _**want** _ to hurt you. But I could end up hurting you because I lose control. That's what makes me more afraid, [Your Name]." Bucky admits.

"I'll have to deal with it. Go get ready for bed, Bucky. You need sleep. I know I do." You say calmly, before bringing your hand to your face quickly to hide the cavernous entrance your mouth becomes as it stretches in a huge yawn. You are indeed ready to sleep. Bucky obeys your unintentional command, and you pull back the quilt and slide in between it and cool sheets, laying your head back on your thick, soft pillow. After about five minutes, Bucky emerges from the bathroom in the decidedly snug-fitting sweatpants. You try to banish any inappropriate thoughts, but it proves increasingly difficult when you notice he's removed the t-shirt you'd given him to wear. You rest your arms above the quilt, twiddling your thumbs, praying you're not blushing like a school-girl with an adolescent crush. You sense Bucky watching your face-which has become a mask of false indifference-as he gets into bed, slowly.

You feel your face burning when he's lying next to you. Fortunately, you manage to collect yourself enough to ask, " Comfortable?"

"Very. Feels odd though. Haven't slept in a bed for a long time." He responds, staring up at the ceiling.

"You'll get used to it in time." You say, but Bucky turns his head abruptly-his silky hair brushing against the pillow as he does so-and gives you a crooked smile.

"So I'll be in your bed on a regular basis, huh?"

"Um..." You stare at him, eyes resembling that of a deer's, when caught in headlights.  ** _So much for calm and collected_  **, you grill yourself mentally.

 

"I'm sorry. That was rude of me." Bucky apologises earnestly. You can't help but smile at him, although you have to force yourself not to gaze into those gorgeous eyes for fear of drowning in them.

"It's okay, Bucky. It was funny. It's something I'm sure you would have said before-" You begin to say, but your voice trails off, as you want to avoid the mention of his Winter Soldier years.

"I imagine so." He spares you the discomfort.

"Goodnight, Bucky. Sleep well." You say, with a warmth you never imagined you'd be able to muster. A sweet smile lights up his face.

"Goodnight, [Your Name]." He bids in return. You turn onto your side and switch off the bedside lamp, immersing yourself and Bucky in darkness. You settle down and close your eyes, preparing to drift off into a peaceful slumber.

"[Your Name]?" Bucky calls ever so softly.

"Hmm?" You make an indistinct noise of acknowledgement.

"Can I...hold onto you? I think...it'll make me feel **_safe_**. If that's okay with you?" He asks.

"Of course you can, Bucky." You insist, quietly thrilled by his perfectly innocent request. You feel his firm body press against your back, his warmth emananting through you. You raise your arm so he can drape his own over your waist. _**Stay calm, stay calm...he's only holding onto you for comfort and reassurance...he's vulnerable and afraid and...WE'RE TOTALLY SPOONING** _ , your thoughts buzz around like a furious horde of bees. You can hear him breathing in deeply, as though he's relishing a sweet scent. In a surge of confidence, you touch Bucky's hand-which is resting against your stomach-lightly, your fingertips running over his knuckles. When he spreads his fingers and moves his hand up a fraction, allowing you to interlace your own between them, you feel as though you're floating in space and you never want to return to Earth's atmosphere.

 

There's a saying that goes 'all good things must come to an end'. That particular proverb crosses your mind, initially, when you wake up with a start at the sound of Bucky screaming and yelling. He's thrashing around, clutching fistfuls of his hair, his screams turning to agonised choked cries.

"Bucky!" You call to him, desperately.

He doesn't respond, but instead, rolls onto his side, doubling up and covering his head. You can just about hear him mewling quietly, " No...no...don't...please no...it hurts, damn you...." Emotion thickens his voice and he begins sobbing, tangled up in the quilt and sheets.

"Bucky?" You try to remain calm, but anxiety makes your voice waver. Once again, he doesn't reply. You consider reaching out to touch him, but hastily decide against it-as this may provoke a violent response. Instead, you use an alternative tactic,

"James Buchanan Barnes?" You attempt to coax him from this state of traumatised hysteria. He slowly lifts his head from the cover of his arms and stares at you, trying to fathom his surroundings, as the horrifying world of his nightmare has dissolved at the sound of your voice speaking his full name.

"[Your Name]?" He asks, cautiously optimistic. 

"Yes, it's me, Bucky. You're not alone. You're not in a HYDRA facilitiy. You're in an apartment, that used to belong to your best friend Steve Rogers. Steve's coming tomorrow to visit you and talk to you, and help you _**remember**  _who you are. I'm looking after you temporarily, and then I guess he'll want you to join him at the Avengers' Tower. You broke into here, thinkingyou'd find Steve, but instead you scared the bejesus out of _**me**_. We shared ice-cream and watched a movie. You were watching **_The Wizard of Oz_** at one point. You asked to hold me before we went to sleep, so you'd feel safe." You tell him, making your voice as restful as possible. Thankfully, it does the trick. 

"I dreamt they were going to do another **wipe**. They were restraining me and pushing me back in the chair...they made me forget a lot, but I never forgot the pain..." He tells you, clinging to your wrist. You lie back in bed again, wriggle onto your side and shuffle towards him.

"Come here, Bucky." You stretch out your arms to him. Warily, he moves towards you. You wrap you arms around him in a hug, hoping he'll find solace in a comforting embrace. His tensed body relaxes, and he winds his arms around your waist, placing his hands on your back. Despite the sudden sharp coldness of his metal arm touching you, you barely flinch. He nestles his face into the crook of your neck, and you bring your hand up to his tangle of hair and comb your fingers through it.

"You're gonna be alright, Bucky. I'm here. I'll keep you safe." You whisper to him in the darkness. He hugs you tighter. Suddenly, you experience a burst of inspiration and start to softly sing to him-

" _ **Somewhere, over the rainbow**_ ,

_**Way up high,** _

_**There's a land that I hear of, once,** _

_**In a lullaby...**_ "

You close your eyes, but continue singing quietly. Bucky's shallow, shaky breaths become deep and calm. His heart, which you'd felt pounding away through his chest, has returned to a steady rhythm.

Everything, for now, is perfectly okay....

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! I hope nobody is disappointed, I was initially planning on including Steve's visit and a few other things, but I figure I'd just take this slow and steady. That, and I was running the risk of the chapter becoming stale if it carried on for too long :s
> 
> Hope you all liked it :)


	4. A Long Awaited Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're preparing Bucky for his reunion with Steve, and hoping the meeting will be beneficial...
> 
> And it would appear that Bucky has taken an extremely keen interest in you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really sorry for the insanely long wait for this chapter. I had TERRIBLE writer's block for this, and the past couple of weeks have been hectic :s
> 
> I hope this doesn't disappoint.
> 
> Apologies in advance, there's some rather indulgent naughtiness :3 you'll know what I'm talking about when you read it. I considered removing it, but decided against it in the end.
> 
> Enjoy :)

You open your eyes to magnificent sunshine dappling your bedroom, managing to break through the fabric of your curtains. You realise after a few bleary minutes of looking around, in an attempt to wake yourself up from your sleepy haze, that you had managed-not only-to sing Bucky to sleep, but also lull yourself into peaceful slumber.

You slowly sit up in bed, so you can stretch out your arms and legs to your satisfaction. A few joints pop and click which sends a wave of relief  through you. For a moment, you slump in your sitting position, not **_quite_ ** ready to leave the warm fabric cocoon of your quilt and the comfort of your bed. A small murmur from beside you draws your attention to your guest. You turn your head and see Bucky stir slightly in his sleep. His metal arm is draped over his abdominal muscles , rising and falling with every breath, and his real arm is raised above his head, wedged between it and his pillow.

He's unwittingly bathing in a panel of sunlight, making his fairly pale skin appear as smooth, sleek porcelain.  His thick, dark tresses come alive-rich chestnut with strands of copper and gold scattered throughout. His metal arm even glows in the sunshine, like some ethereal prosthetic. Bucky is truly a work of art.

When his eyelids flutter and open, you look away quickly, like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't have. When you dare to look back, those blue-grey orbs regard you thoughtfully.

"Morning." He says, his voice even huskier than usual.

"Morning to you, too." You reply, with a smile. "Sleep well?"

"Better than I have in a long time." He tells you.

"I'm happy to hear that. Singing to you worked wonders."

"For both of us, it seemed." He replies, a smile playing at his lips. You nod, tiredly, chuckling.

"Sure did." You say.

 

"Y'know, Bucky, you said you were scared of hurting me if you had a nightmare?"

"Hmm." He makes an idistinct noise.

"Well...you didn't. And you recalled quickly when I spoke to you. That's got to be a good sign." You say, in a moment of deliberation.

"You think...I'm going back to normal?" Bucky props himself up on his elbows, as if to catch sight of your face and assess the authenticity of the conclusion you came to.

"I prefer to think of it as 'recovering', but yes. I think you are, Bucky." Your brows are drawn together in a pensive stare. You're staring ahead, not making eye-contact with him, but there's no mistaking the quiet confidence in your voice. Cold metal fingers touch your arm, causing goose-pimples to speckle across your flesh. You look at him, curiosity plain in your expression.

"Being with you is helping me. Thank you, [Your Name]." He tells you, every word heart-felt. Your lips curve upward into a fond smile.

"You're very welcome, Bucky." You say, falling into the deadly trap of meeting his beautiful eyes. You're quickly captivated by them, but it seems he's equally entranced by your own eyes. Your heartbeat quickens, and there's an unusual tingling in your stomach, followed by a sensation of feeling lighter than air.

You dare to wonder whether Bucky is feeling the same.

Then you question why you have doubts. Your guest hasn't broken his ardourous gaze, which is something considering you have a serious case of bed-head and panda eyes from yesterday's eye make-up. Regardless of this, Bucky is looking at you like you're the incarnation of a goddess.

How could that expression be confused for anything but love?

 

You settle on having a quick shower, so you can sort breakfast for yourself and Bucky before Steve arrives, whilst he freshens up himself.

After drying yourself off with your towel, you brush out your damp locks of hair, praying it'll co-operate and settle tidily. When you emerge from the bathroom, Bucky-somewhat to your chagrin-appears to have, now sitting up and resting against the headboard, fallen asleep again. While it'll slow down preparation for Steve's visit, it does mean you don't have to shuffle around awkwardly, snatching up underwear clothes and dashing back into the bathroom to get dressed. Tentatively, you peer over your shoulder to confirm Bucky's current state. Promptly, you then cast your towel aside, and yank open your underwear drawer to hunt around for pants and a bra.

As you reach back and deftly hook your bra, you suddenly hear a meek query from behind you-

"Umm...[Your Name], should I go wash up, now?" The hot flush of embarrassment floods across your face and neck, and you scrunch your face up in sheer annoyance at making the risky choice to bear all in front of your, presumed to be sleeping, guest.

"Bucky. How long have you been awake?" You ask.

"Since I heard you opening that drawer." He replies, honestly.

"Ah. So you saw-"

"Yes." He answers, briskly, not requiring the whole question.

"Everything?" You finish, despite his vocalised confirmation.

"Mhmm." He reiterates. You give a heaving sigh, shaking your head in resignation.

 

"Sorry, Bucky." You apologise, aware of how futile an apology is in this situation.

"It's okay. I probably should have said something sooner, but..." Bucky seems hesitant to continue.

"But?" You turn around, resting one hand on the chest of drawers and the other on your waist. Bucky shifts around uncomfortably under the duvet, clearing his throat and brushing back his tousled dark mane with his fingers.

"I...um...I kind of...liked seeing you without-" His face colours red immediately. He keeps shifting around, like he's had an army of ants dropped into his boxer shorts.

"Well, it's only normal for you to enjoy seeing some nude booty after a seventy year dry spell. The fact you appreciated seeing me in...all my glory... is very flattering, so thank you." You nod at him.

"Dry spell?" Bucky questions you, now bundling up the duvet on his lap. Intrigued, you observe this nervous fidgeting as you offer your reply-

"Um... it basically means a period of time in which a person hasn't had any... ** _lovin'_**. I am, of course, making the assumption you weren't doing anything during those years-I don't know if-?"

"No. Whatever time wasn't spent on ice...was used achieving a mission objective." Bucky's voice wavers, clearly unsettled by something under the duvet as opposed to the mention of his past.

"I had a feeling it would be something like that." You remark, your face pinched and contemplative. "Shower's free for you to have a wash. I'll prepare breakfast for us both, so we don't get growling stomachs when Steve visits." You try and sound upbeat to dispel any potential discomfort on Bucky's part. However, the super-soldier remains preoccupied with his relentless fidgeting.

 

"Bucky, are you alright? You keep...shuffling in the bed?" You finally ask. The blush on Bucky's face spreads, rapidly, down his neck to his chest.

"Uhh...yeah...I'm fine. I'll-I'll go have a shower. Like you said." He clutches at the duvet, piled up on his lap.

"Awesome. I'll finished getting dressed, if that's okay. I mean...not that it _**wouldn't** _ be, because I obviously can't walk around the apartment like this-" You gesture at yourself, still in your underwear. For some unbeknown reason, you feel remarkably comfortable standing in front of Bucky in this state of undress. **_He did pretty much drop his towel in front of me last night_** , you recall.

"No, no...especially if Steve's visiting. He wouldn't...he wouldn't know where to look-" Bucky's fists tighten on the duvet, and a small, nervous smile plasters his enchanting face. **_It seems, my gorgeous guest, you don't know either,_** you comment smugly in your mind.

"I imagine he'd feel quite violated." You giggle, striding over to your wardrobe and picking out a nice, form-fitting top coupled with some snug, skinny jeans. "Bucky, you can go and use the shower, now." You remind the super-soldier gently.

"Uh huh..." He answers uneasily.

"Bucky, there's really no need to be embarrassed. I've had boyfriends. I know what changes occur to the male anatomy when they're seeing something they 'like'." You decide to reassure him. Now fully dressed, you spin around, only to be greeted with the sight of a very plaintive Bucky. Those big, blue doe eyes are staring at you. He bears a striking resemblence to an emotionally wounded puppy.

"I'm sorry..." He mumbles.

"Oh, you don't need to apologise. Truly, it's not an issue, so don't feel ashamed. I mean, there are guys who need...pharmaceutical assistance to achieve what you're-um-achieving right now. So, c'mon, go wash up! You want to be squeaky clean for when Steve arrives." You clap your hands at him like a chivvying mother trying to coax her belligerent son from his brooding doze. Bucky obeys without a single word of protest, but ensures he's facing away from you when he pushes the duvet from him and swings his legs out of bed.

 

"I'll lay out some clothes for you to put on after your shower. Saves you having to search around for them. Once you're done, come on into the kitchen, and there'll be a bowl of cereal waiting for you." You tell him in a sing-song voice whilst he stalks over to the bathroom, his posture hunched, his arms held stiffly and awkwardly in front of his crotch. You fight the urge to giggle at the image of the ex-assassin desperately trying to hide his 'super-soldier'. **_Heh heh, the Winter Soldier is standing to attention,_** you chime mentally, your mouth twitching into a smirk.

After placing a clean t-shirt, a fresh pair of boxer shorts, and the jeans Bucky had commandeered yesterday, on the bed, you hurry into your kitchen to snatch up bowls and spoons from their respective cupboard and drawer. With a mild clattering of the stainless steel spoons against the glazed ceramic bowls, you place them either side of the dining table, before selecting today's cereal. It's a choice between Cheerios or Froot Loops. For the sake of being healthy, you pick Cheerios and pour yourself and Bucky generous bowlfuls.

As you're about to tip the milk in, you hear soft, imploring meows from your apartment's tiny balcony.

"Aw, Pippin, bad timing, buddy." You address your feline companion, eagerly awaiting entry into the apartment so he can curl up in his favourite spot beside the couch. You scurry over to the balcony doors, and slide one across. Pippin enters at a leisurely pace, shimmying against your clothed leg, his tail brushing against your calf. He looks up at you with big, pale green eyes, clearly expecting an affectionate scratch on his head. You lean down to so, and he butts his furry head into your palm, the quiet rattle of his purr now impressively resounding.

 

Now crouching down so you can tickle Pippin under his chin, you suddenly detect movement in the corner of your eyes, and swivel round to see Bucky hovering in the doorway.

"Hey there, Bucky. Sorry, breakfast isn't completely done. I got distracted by this little guy." You tap Pippin gently on his pink nose, to which he reacts-curiously-with a flick of his pointy ears. "How are you feeling?" You ask Bucky.

"Not too bad. Kinda nervous." He tells you.

"I'd be surprised if you weren't." You say, standing up and giving him your full attention. "Steve's probably equally nervous about this too. Today's going to be intense, but hopefully beneficial for the both of you. He needs to see you as much as you need to see him. Neither of you has to rush anything, and it's going to take time to regain your confidence with him, but it's not gonna take forever." You approach him gradually.

"Do you think...things will go back to the way they were?" Uncertainty occupies his voice and expression. You take a moment to consider your response, not quite having the heart to look him in the eye as you do.

"I don't know if they will, Bucky. What's happened since then has changed both of you. Your friendship isn't going to be the same as it was, but that doesn't mean it'll weaken. And I truly believe if you spend time with Steve, it'll help you recover in leaps and bounds." You answer him honestly, but optimistically.

 

"Will he...is he...will he be alright with that? I mean...do you think he'll be able to cope? It's not just the nightmares...certain situations...I react badly. Lots of things, even loud noises remind me of some **_bad_  ** things...I panic. The Soldier takes over, and I can't always control him-"

"You controlled him last night. You didn't attack me like you thought you would." You remind him soothingly.

"That was luck, a one off-" He dismisses the event, sadly. You interlink your fingers between his.

"No, I don't think it was. I think you're far stronger than you believe. The Soldier's grip on you has loosened already. Remember what I said. You're _**Bucky** _." You tell him, with steely determination.

"I'm Bucky." He repeats, gazing into your eyes.

"Yes. You are. And, to answer your question about Steve, I have no doubt he would be able to cope. He'll help you get through this, he's with you forever, Bucky-"

"Til the end of the line." Bucky interjects dreamily, his eyes staring into a non-existent horizon. You slowly cup his face.

"Exactly. And you've got me too. I'm cheering you on from the side-lines." You add with a jaunty grin. Tenderness is written all over Bucky's face, as he lifts his own hand to caress your soft cheek.

"I know. It means a lot to me." He says. You take an unsteady step forward, not wanting to lose the warmth of his touch. All it would take is for you to tilt your head up, angle it slightly and move forward, to press against those rose-petal lips. The look in his eyes betrays him that he's of a similar mind.

 

The moment suddenly drifts away, a dandelion seed carried off by the breeze, when you remember you both need to eat breakfast before Steve arrives-which is chance to be very soon.

"I-I better pour that milk...so we can eat..." You say, letting your hands fall to your sides.

"Yeah...yeah, sure thing." Bucky nods, slowly moving his hand from your cheek. Glancing around awkwardly for a moment, you then half-stumble to the table. Bucky takes his seat, hands demurely placed on his lap. As you pour the milk over the cereal, Pippin ambles over, and perches himself beside Bucky's chair so he can get a better view of this 'new human'. Your cat stares at Bucky, shifting from one front paw to the other.

"Bucky, meet Pippin." You introduce the super-soldier to your pet with a sly smirk. Bucky regards the cat stoically, staring levelly at Pippin. _**Are the Winter Soldier and my cat having a staring competition?** _ You ask yourself.

There's a flash of black and white fur, and you notice your four-legged friend making himself comfortable on Bucky's lap. The ex-assassin looks perplexed yet intrigued by this action. Pippin proceeds to rub his face against Bucky's, paws kneading at his legs through the layer of denim.

"I think he likes you." You remark, sitting down to tuck into your breakfast. "Don't worry, he doesn't bite or scratch. He's a big softie. And very attention-seeking." Bucky tentatively raises his flesh hand and strokes Pippin's head. When the cat responds by purring loudly, and pushing his face into Bucky's chest, a timid smile appears on the super-soldier's face. Bucky relaxes so much, he starts absent-mindedly petting Pippin whilst eating his cereal. You can't help but grin at the sight.

You've nearly finished the entire bowl of Cheerios when there's a soft knock on the door. Bucky looks up immediately, eyes wide and furtive. Pippin's ears shift in the direction of the noise, but he remains contentedly curled up in Bucky's lap.

"It'll be okay. I promise." You reach across the table, offering your hand in a reassuring gesture, before getting up to answer the door. Steadily, you open it, revealing Steve's tall, well-built frame.

 "Hey, Steve." You speak quietly, as though Bucky is resting and you're keen not to wake him from this imagined slumber.

"Hey there, [Your Name]." He replies, his own voice gentle. The blond gives you a companionable hug, which you can't help but appreciate. He's a medley of aromas-shampoo, aftershave, deodorant. "Thanks again for going through with this."

"No problem. I just hope it works out for the best." You say. "Bucky?" You turn your head to address the brunet. You open the door further, allowing the two men to see one another.

There's a moment of pure silence as they take in the sight of one another. You suspect there's still a feeling of disbelief for the both of them, that they're actually seeing each other.

"Hi, Buck. It's me. It's Steve."

 

You've had to bring in a spare seat for Steve, so he can sit at the table. He's looking at Bucky hopefully, with his hands clasped on the table, moving his thumbs in circles around one another. Bucky is staring down at Pippin, reluctant to make eye contact.

"It's good to see you, Buck. I mean it." Steve tells his friend, in that heartfelt way he's reknown for. Bucky doesn't look up, remaining silent.

"Bucky's been making progress already, Steve. He's remembering things. If he gets panicked, he just needs a few words of reassurance and he regains lucidity." You say, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

"That's real good, Buck. I'm so proud of you." Steve tells him, his eyes shining with the love people reserve for close friends. Bucky still keeps his head down. A moment of uncomfortable silence follows Steve's warm words.

"He got worried he'd hurt me during the night, if he had a bad dream. But he didn't, so...." You struggle. Steve smiles at you empathetically, and you shrug your shoulders, holding your palms up in a gesture of resignation.

"[Your Name] sang to me. **_Somewhere Over The Rainbow_**. I'd been watching Wizard of Oz. She calms me down when I...I panic..." Bucky mutters, finally lifting his head to look at Steve.

"You always loved that movie. Took me to go see it when it came out. When we walked back home, you started doing the Munchkin dance down the street, singing 'We're Off To See The Wizard'." Steve grins at the memory. Bucky smiles.

"I liked making you laugh, ya little punk." He scolds Steve affectionately. You feel like you're floating on air at this beautiful moment between the friends.

"You always did, ya big jerk." Steve's smiling, tears welling in his eyes.

 

"I'm so sorry for everything, Steve. I'm sorry for hurting you. I nearly....I tried to k-" Bucky cuts himself off, shaking his head in shame.

"You don't have to apologise for anything, Buck. You didn't do those things...it was someone else. Someone they kept trying to turn you into. What they did...was disgusting. But you, you kept fighting it. They couldn't keep my best buddy from coming back." He says.

"But I'm not...all together. I've still got pieces missing. And then the things that happened while I was the Soldier....I remember those too. There's the nightmares...and then...something will happen, I hear a noise or someone moves too quickly-it's like flipping a switch. I don't want to be that way."

"Bucky, you've got something called PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder. It used to be called combat fatigue in our time, but they still weren't sure how to treat it. Now, there's so much more knowledge about it, people can get counselling for it! I have a friend, Sam-he's ex-military-he helps other veterans who are suffering the same thing. I can ask him to come and speak with you, maybe on a regular basis? He's knows his stuff, because he's been through it himself. We can all help you fight this, you don't have to be alone anymore." Steve makes his case, with the perfect combination of compassion and reason. You see Bucky nodding at the idea.

"Yes. That would be good. I won't ever go back to being exactly who I was before-" He looks at you, "-but I can save as much of him as I can... and be a different but recovered version." There's a heart-lifting flash of determination in his eyes.

"Yeah, Buck. Exactly." Steve says, his words laced with levelled optimism.

"Our friendship won't be the same-" He's paraphrasing your words to him, "-but that doesn't mean it'll be any less of a friendship. It might be stronger. Because of all the shit we've been through." He turns to Steve.

"You're my best friend, Buck. Always have, always will. No matter what." Steve tells him.

"Til the end of the line, punk." Bucky's eyes redden noticeably. A couple of tears roll down his cheeks.

"Til the end of the line." Steve tenses his jaw in an effort not to cry.

 

You come to the conclusion that this is one of the most wonderful moments you've ever had the fortune to witness.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ba-da-bing-ba-da-boom! 
> 
> Not too bad, I'm hoping? Rather feels-y, I know :D it should be cheerier in the next chapter ^.^
> 
> Stay tuned!


	5. A Sudden Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In need of groceries, you head to the store, with Steve for company. Convinced all is well, and things are coming together nicely, you feel positive and cheerful.
> 
> However, upon your return, you quickly come to the realisation that Bucky's 'progress' was merely the calm before the storm...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Apologies for the reaaaaalllllllyy long time since my last update. I had complete writer's block for this fic, but at last-I can return to my original plot baby ^.^
> 
> Also, as a heads up, it's been fairly sweet up to now, but for the next few chapters it's going to get rather gritty and intense :s hope this doesn't put anyone off!
> 
> I also hope you all like this chapter! :3

Bucky and Steve converse contentedly, with Steve telling his friend of the events that occurred following his thawing. A few other topics touched upon are those of historical, global events that took place over the course of Steve's time on ice, and Bucky's servitude. While Steve has been researching avidly, there are still grey areas in his knowledge, and he repeatedly turns to you for assistance. You did notice, however, at no point did he ask for confirmation when getting Bucky up to speed with events that transpired in the remaining years of the forties. You rapidly feel an ache of empathy for both men.

"That's about as much as I can tell you, Buck. I'm still trying to catch up myself. One thing's for sure, it's much easier with the technology they have now. Not to say books are to be overlooked, those were helpful too. But when you can't sleep at three a.m, and the library's shut, it sure helps having the internet to do some extra reading." Steve says.

"Sounds good. Only...I don't know how to use a computer." Bucky admits shamefacedly.

"Don't worry about it. I can help you with that. Natasha and Clint had to teach me-they said it was like trying to teach a grandpa." Steve recounts, a smirk on his lips. You titter quietly. "For now, we can get you some books. I don't know if you can remember, but you always loved to read. If there was one thing we had an abundance of, it was books. You always used to say that keeping our minds fed was just as important as keeping our stomachs full." He tells Bucky.

"Wow, Bucky, you were quite the sage bestower of wisdom." You remark, impishly. The ex-assassin appears equally taken aback, and leans forward, elbows resting on the table.

"So it would seem." He concurs, puffing his cheeks out ever so slightly and letting out a short exhale of breath. His eyes flicker down to his metal arm. He turns it over so his palm faces the ceiling, and proceeds to open and close his fingers-a soft, mechanical whirring filling the quiet room.

 

"S'okay, Buck. This stuff...it'll come back to you. Whether it's tomorrow or next year, it _**will**_ come back. Just...you gotta give yourself time." Steve allays Bucky's sudden despondency.

"Yeah. Gotta remember that." He says, with a wan smile, dragging his eyes away from his metal limb. They promptly fall onto your face and linger in a fashion that could be decribed as unrestrained. The apples of your cheeks quickly become tinted treacherous shade of scarlet beneath Bucky's longing gaze. He responds to your physical reaction by blushing himself. Steve's eyes flit back and forth between his best friend and yourself.

"Am I missing something here?" The super-soldier inquires, a coy smile tugging at his mouth. _**Damn you, Steve, for wising up to the ways of the twenty first century. Why couldn't you be the oblivious, innocent guy from the forties just for a few minutes?**_ You silently despair.

"Um...err...would you like something to drink? Either of you?" You hastily nudge the topic of conversation in a preferable direction.

"I wouldn't mind a coffee, thank you." Steve answers wryly.

"Great!" You practically leap up from your chair, whacking your knees-both painfully and audibly-on the edge of the table. "Fffffffuuuu-" You bite down on your lip, so the initial sound of the obsecnity is nothing but a drawn out, hissing squeak-like a deflating balloon with Tourette's.

" _ **Fudge**_ ?" Steve assists you, with a knowing glint in his eye. **_Since when did Captain America get so fricking co_** _ **y?**_ You speculate, offering a tight-lipped smile to accompany a quick self-correction.

" _ **Fudge**_. Precisely. Thank you, Steve, for your input."

"Just doing my duty for a citizen." He replies, with a knavish smirk.

"And **then some**." You add, through slightly gritted teeth. "Bucky? Would you like anything to drink?" The brunet is watching the both of you intently, unequivocally baffled by the exchange.

"Um. N-no, thank you." He says, politely. You give him a beaming smile before scurrying over to the kitchen work units, opening up the cupboard where you store the necessary items for hot beverages.

 

"Uh oh. I'm out of coffee. And tea-bags. I was supposed to be picking up groceries today, but-" You look back at the two men. "Unforseen circumstances have changed my plans a little."

"We can go pick up your groceries together, if you want?" Steve suggests.

"It's alright, I can go myself. I've done it many times before." You say amiably, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture before picking up your bag.

"[Your Name], I'd feel kinda unchivalrous letting you go off by yourself."

"Steve, I promise, you're not morally obligated to help me pick up my groceries." You assure him with an affectionate smile.

"It still doesn't seem right, though." He frets.

"You _**can**_ come with me, Steve, I was just saying you didn't _**have**_ to. You have a responsibility to the city, not to me and my retail requirements." You rib the super-soldier, eyes squinting as you grin at him.

"I have a responsibility to **friends** , though." He tells you, getting up from his chair, and smoothing out his plain, white t-shirt.

"You're too adorable for a damn super-soldier." You pretend to scold him, before throwing an arm around his waist to give him a side-on hug. The blond huffs out a short laugh, carefully winding his arm around your shoulders and pressing a friendly kiss on the top of your head. There's nothing romantic or sexual behind the action-your friendship with Steve is peacfully platonic.

 

"C'mon, Bucky, let's go." You announce cheerfully, but seeing the way the colour (what there is of it in his ivory skin-tone) drains from his face, you regret your words.

"I...I'm not sure that's a good idea. You-you both go, I'll be fine." He says, disquieted.

"Being around a lot of people and potential triggers is a bad idea. Maybe I _**should**_   stay?" Steve has second-thoughts about his decision to accompany you. You nod, and open your mouth to agree, but Bucky interjects-

"It's fine, Steve. Go with [Your Name]. I-I wouldn't want to let her go alone. I would go if I wasn't- _ **how I am**_." Bucky insists, looking at the both of you forlornly.

"Buck, I can't leave you-" Steve protests.

"I really don't think it would good for you to be alone, Bucky." You support Steve's case.

"I was alone for a while after the helicarrier incident. I can cope, [Your Name]." The ex-assassin reminds you both with a steely edge to his tone.

"But Buck-" Steve balks, falling silent when his best friend's brows furrow in an unsettlingly rancourous glare. You wonder if that baleful expression reminds him of the Winter Soldier, who'd fought him so relentlessly

" **I will be fine**." He repeats sternly.

"Are-are you sure? I can go by myself, it's no trouble." You speak so softly, so meekly, that Bucky's transient state of pique vanishes as rapidly as it appeared.

"I'll be fine. I really will. Go on, go." He orders you both, in considerably better humour. "I've got the cat to keep me company." He jokes, scratching Pippin, still curled up comfortably in his lap, between his ears-which keep flicking at odd intervals.

"Alright, Buck. We'll get going. We'll be back as _**soon as possible**_." Steve promises, with an air of unwavering confidence.

"See you both soon." Bucky scoops the drowsy cat up into his arms and makes his way into the living room. With that, you and Steve exchange a look of trepidation before leaving the apartment.

 

Your mood is lightened as you wander around the grocery store with Steve, stocking up on your favourite items. You and the super-soldier engage in amicable patter, as you decide to add extra supplies for your guest.

"If his appetite has become anything like mine, he'll _**definitely**_ want more food." Steve tells you with a quiet chortle.

"Well, he's only had a bowl of Cheerios this morning. Let's hope he's not started chewing on the couch cushions when we get back." The two of you titter at the amusing, yet curiously endearing, mental image of Bucky snacking on your furniture.

"Trust me, he got close to doing that back in the forties, and that was _**without**_ a serum-boosted appetite." Steve recalls fondly.

"Ah. My furniture is screwed in that case." You chuckles. Steve makes a sound that combines a laugh and a hum.

"Can I ask you something, [Your Name]?"

"Fire away."

"Are you developing feelings for Bucky?" Steve cuts straight to the point, unabashedly. You stare at him, nonplussed.

 

"I...um...w-what?" You come to a halt in the middle of the aisle, hands tightening like talons around the handle of the shopping cart.

"Do you like Bucky, as more than just a 'house-guest'?"

"I...how...I... _ **maybe**_. How do you-?"

"It's not difficult to tell. Even for someone like me. You blush when he looks at you, and you've always got this... _ **serene**_ expression when _**you**_ look at _**him**_." At this point, you're not entirely sure what bothers you most. The fact that you were so easily 'caught out', or that you've been figured out by the best friend of the extremely vulnerable and mentally unstable man you've developed a _**damn crush on**_.

"I-I'm sorry, Steve. I  **do** have feelings for him-but I swear to God, I would never try and take advantage of him. With him being in the state he is, that would be... _ **immoral**_. But yes, I like him. Whether it's infatuation or...I'm falling for him-which seems _**crazy**_ because I've known him for not even _**two**_ days-I just don't know?" You confess, hanging your head in shame.

"[Your Name], it's okay. I just wanted to know. Don't feel guilty about it. Bucky's a handsome guy, so obviously that's contributed to your feelings for him-but it's the fact that he _**needs**_ help, needs someone to care for him and **_about_** him, perhaps? I know you wouldn't manipulate him with his vulnerability, you're nothing like that. You want to _**protect him**_. So you've developed an attachment to him. On one hand, I'm worried that it might complicate things if...if he-"

"Backslides?" You whisper it, as though it's a taboo word.

"Yes. On the other hand, I'm glad that maybe, just maybe, he has a chance at both recovery and finding someone who's willing to stand with him through the tough times. Ah, well, someone other than me. Who he can have a...um... _ **relationship**_ with. Because, y'know, I love Buck and all, but-"

"Neither of you swing that way." You say, with an elfish grin.

"Yeah. Precisely. Not that there's anything wrong with that! I know times have changed, people are much less prejudiced and more open-minded than they were in the forties-" Steve says quickly.

"Don't worry, Steve. I catch your drift. So. Can I gather from you what said-you're...giving me your blessing?" You ask, tentatively.

"I guess you could say that. I know you'd stay with him til the end of the line as much I will." He says, a look of wisdom crossing his features. You can't help but flush at the compliment.

"Thank you, Steve. That means a lot. I would, I really would. I mean. If he wanted to...pursue a relationship with me. He might want to, y'know, look for someone else when he's mostly recovered-" The thought of Bucky finding love with another woman leaves an ache in your chest, but Steve drags you from that dark pit of rumination.

"Believe me, I think he's already found that 'someone'."

"Oh, you...you think so?" The familiar warmth dusts your cheeks, as you seek confirmation.

"The way he _**keeps**_ looking at you. And you won't have noticed it, but when you're looking away, I'm pretty sure I can see him smiling at you. It's subtle, real subtle. But I swear, it's like seeing the old Bucky coming through."

 

You and Steve chatter away, joking and telling one another amusing anecdotes as you finish gathering and paying for your groceries. As he assists you in packing everything, you breath a sigh of relief.

"Good thing you did come along in the end. I don't think I would've been able to carry _**all of this**_." You make an ephemeral sweeping gesture, with both arms, at the bags.

"Worry not, good citizen. Captain America is here to save the day." He says jokingly, picking up the heavier bags without even the tiniest shred of a physical strain. You notice many of the female employees and customers gazing wistfully at him, clearly in the thralls of heated fantasies about him 'saving the day' in their bedrooms.

"Come on, soldier, let's vacate the premises before any horny women try and pounce on that glorious butt." You usher him along, making your way out of the store. The blond's cheeks take on a pink hue, but he quickly retaliates-

"Oh? I thought you only had eyes for Bucky's butt?" He asks, with a puckish, jagged grin. You purse your lips and flash him the most petulant expression you can muster.

"When did you get so sassy?"

"Oh, I've always been like this. I just have to put on an act when I'm in the uniform."

"Ah, I see."

"I'm not as virtuous as people make me out to be."

"I figured as much. Well if that's the case, you would be completely unbothered by me saying I've got my eyes on numerous parts of Bucky's anatomy-" You decide to test Steve's limits, but are-predictably-interrupted.

"Oh-kay, maybe I'm not **that** corrupted just yet." You snigger at the super-soldier.

"Just you wait, Captain. The twenty first century will have its ribald way with you."

 

 When you arrive at your apartment, you cautiously push your broken door open using your shoulder-making a mental note to call somebody out to repair it.

You bound cheerfully into your home, dropping your bags-nearly overflowing with shopping-onto your dining table. Steve treads in behind you, at a leisurely pace, and places the bags he's been laden with on the table.

"Bucky, we're back!" You call out. The apartment is eerily silent.

"Buck?" Steve calls. "Buck?" He says again. Again, there is no response, no acknowledgement of their return. Steve casts a worried glance at you. There's a sickly, wringing sensation in the pit of your stomach.

"Maybe...maybe he's just in the bathroom?" You suggest, your voice wavering. You don't believe your own words, so you're hardly surprised when Steve looks at you doubtfully. A low, anxious meowing from beneath the dining chair draws your attention. You lean down, and catch sight of Pippin hunkering down, his fur standing on end, and his eyes wide and fearful.

"Pippin? Baby boy, what's wrong?" You hold out your hand to your beloved pet, speaking in soothing tones to encourage him out from under the chair. The feline's meows grow more distressed, and he edges back, further into hiding. That feeling gripping your stomach ascends to your heart, quickening its pace. An ominous chill prickles odd points across your body-the top of your head, your back- and your hands and feet dampen with cool sweat. When Steve gently takes hold of your shoulder, you flinch. He moves ahead of you, towards the living room, gesturing at you to stay put. You fully intend to do so, until he halts in the doorway, staring into the room.

"Buck?" His voice his barely above a hoarse whisper. Panic snatches you up into its unrelenting clutches, and you rush to Steve's side

"Bucky?" You call again, voice shaky and higher in pitch.

The ex-assassin is sat completely, stock still on the couch, seemingly in the midst of a thousand-yard stare. He doesn't register you or Steve.

He just sits there.

Staring.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-DUN!!! If you'll pardon the phrase, but 'excrement' is about to hit the fan! :o
> 
> Keeping my fingers crossed you liked this chapter :) I know it's a bit short, but I was really keen to update this fic. It's been too long! I'll be updating more regularly now that I have a better idea about where I want this story to go :D


	6. Relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision is made following a terrifying outburst from the damaged ex-assassin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A serious warning-this chapter contains violence, which could be upsetting/a potential trigger for any readers who have either been the recipient of or witnessed it.
> 
> I realise this story has taken a dark turn, but it won't stay like this for too long. It's more for realism.
> 
> So yep, this chapter is pretty hard-hitting....again, I hope this doesn't deter anyone :)

"Bucky?" You say again, your voice faint, despite being aware the repetition of his name will not pull him from his trance.

His face is completely blank, that tiny glint in his eyes has faded-leaving those beautiful irises dull, verging on empty, and the ivory complexion of his face has blanched to a worrying alabaster.

"No, Buck, please no...oh God..." Steve whispers. The two of you move gingerly towards him. You notice a sheen of sweat on the ex-assassin's face, the way his chest is falling and rising faster than could be considered normal.

"Bucky..." You say quietly. His hands curl into fists, the knuckles of his flesh hand turning papery white. The tendons and veins of his real arm come to the surface of his skin, and the plates of his metal arm recaliberate.

"[Your Name]...don't go any closer." Steve warns you.

"Mission objective..." Bucky finally speaks. "Report...target....target eliminated...." He mutters to himself.

"Bucky?" You reach out to the virtually catatonic man.

"[Your Name], don't-" Steve begins to say, but the second your fingertips make contact with Bucky's shoulder-the brunet leaps up from the couch, back-hands your arm away and lunges at you.

 

You're barely given the opportunity to shriek, because his metal fingers are wrapped around your throat, cold claws digging into tender skin. While this happened when you first encountered the super-soldier, at the very least, there was _**emotion**_. The expression you see before you is terrifyingly stoic, detached and _**focused**_. His pupils are pin-pricks admist the ocean blue of his irises. This man is **not** James Buchanan Barnes. This man is HYDRA's twisted creation, a sickening distortion of the man you'd been capturing glimpses of.

"BUCKY!" Steve bellows.

"B-Bu-cky..." You splutter, struggling for breath, the metal fingers constricting your windpipe dangerously. "It-it's m-e, it's [Your Name]..."

" **You** have no name. **You** are my target." The _**Winter Soldier**_ tells you mechanically. Steve seizes hold of his best friend, which results in the ex-assassin releasing his hold on you, and drags him backwards. With the Winter Soldier equalling him in strength, the task is no easy feat. The brunet manages slip his metal arm from Steve's grip, and elbows his friend square in the face-catching him off guard. The Soldier takes advantage of Steve's momentary falter, liberating himself from the blond's hold, then spins around to clutch at Steve's neck with his metal hand. He punches Steve repeatedly in the face, mercilessly, before driving his fist into his best friend's abdomen, and drawing his knee up to hit him in the groin. The impact throws the blond super-soldier off balance, allowing the Soldier to _**hurl**_   Steve across the room. 

With the only person standing between you and the ex-assassin, who's Winter Soldier programming has spontaneously kicked in, doubled up in agony on the floor, you immediately bolt for the nearest room. With the path to the kitchen/dining room being blocked by the agitated six foot wall of muscle, your only other option is your bedroom.

You recall, too late, that the serum enhanced his speed as well as his physical fortitude. As soon as you manage to open the door by the merest fraction, it's slammed shut, the ex-assassin now directly behind you. He grabs you by your forearms and practically pirouettes you on the spot, so you face him. He snarls at you in, what you soon realise is, Russian, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. His other hand reaches down to pluck something from the waist of his jeans. You feel your blood chill and curdle when he slowly raises a large, kitchen knife into your line of sight.

 

At first a gasping cry slips from your mouth, but then a shrill scream careens from the back of your throat to fill the living room.

The Soldier's bionic hand drops the hank of your hair it had been clutching, and is clapped over your mouth.

"Shut the fuck up." He commands you in low, threatening tone, the Russian accent thick and guttral in his words, positioning the sharp edge of the knife across your carotid artery.

"Bucky!" Steve yells, pushing himself back up onto his feet. Blood is trickling from both of his nostrils, a bruise has formed over his eye, and his lip is swollen. The Soldier ignores the man behind him, instead choosing to focus his attention on you-his supposed 'target'. "Bucky! Let her go! It's me, I'm your target!" The blond cries out. He knows if he even attempts to 'sabotage' the Soldier, the knife will be swiftly slashed across your throat.

"Bucky, Christ, don't do this...please remember, Bucky..." You plead, voice muffled by his hand.

"Bucky! I'm your target, _**me**_ ! Not her! _**Me**_ !" Steve desperately tries to draw the Soldier away from you. " _ **Steve Rogers**_ is your target!"

The hand covering your mouth is pulled back, as is the knife pressed against your neck. The Winter Soldier-now _**Bucky**_ \- swivels his head around to Steve, then back again to stare at you. He drops the knife on the floor, with a clatter. You collapse into trembling heap against the door, sobbing uncontrollably. Bucky staggers backwards, tumbling down onto the couch.

"Where am I?" He asks in a frightened whisper. "Where am I?"

Steve rushes over to you, your state of serious distress taking precedence over answering the query of his disorientated best friend, and gently winds his arms around you, as if to support your crumpled frame.

"You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay, it'll be fine, you'll be fine..." He says over and over, hoping it'll aid in finding you solace.

 

"Where am I?" Bucky asks himself. "Steve! Steve!" He cries out. 

"Buck. Buck, I'm here." Steve says placatingly, still holding you in his arms to provide whatever comfort he can.

"Steve...what _**happened**_   to you?" Bucky's voice sounds genuinely terrified. "Where are we? What's....what's...my arm...?"

"Buck, we're-"

"What's going on?!" The ex-assassin demands, plainly upset. His mind is evidently leaping from one time to another, making him believe he's at various significant stages of his life

"Buck, we're-we're not in the forties anymore. When you got sent off to fight, I managed to enlist because of Dr Erskine, and was put into Project Rebirth. That's-that's why I look the way I do. I was injected with a serum and became Captain America. Your unit-your unit was captured, and I came and got you-"

"Steve- where are the others? Where's Dum Dum? And Morita? Falsworth?" Another 'time-leap' occurs in Bucky's mind.

"They're not...they're not here anymore..." Steve tells him, trying to keep pace with his memory lapses.

"What? What do you mean? We gotta go take down one of HYDRA's bases soon-did they go AWOL or something?" Bucky sounds wholly flummoxed.

"It's the year two thousand and fourteen, Buck. The others...they passed a while back." Steve informs his best friend solemnly. His words are greeted with silence from Bucky. You peer up at him through damp eyes. He's leaning forward, head bowed, fisting at his own shaggy mane of hair.

"Bucky?" You croak, voice distorted from weeping. The super-soldier ceases tugging at locks of his hair, and raises his head, eyes darting around-as if assessing and evaluating his surroundings. When his eyes finally meet yours, his brows slant upwards-his expression full of grief. His focus seems to switch between your tear-stained face and Steve's  bruised and bloodied one.

"What-what have I done?" The question convey's Bucky's utter mortification. "Steve? [Your Name]? No...oh God...I'm sorry...I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." He doubles up on the couch, covers his face and steadily rocks himself back and forth-undisputedly wracked with guilt.

 

As Steve tries earnestly to coax Bucky from his state of overwhelming guilt over his actions, you nervously collect up the knife that had been pressed to your throat during the debacle.

You go so far as to gather up every single kitchen knife in your apartment, stash them away in a spare storage box, seal the lid with duct tape, and hide the box on the top shelf of a cupboard. While it's far from 'super-soldier proof', you'll know for sure if the box has opened or tampered with.

You're not angry at Bucky, because you're fully aware that his mental state is-inevitably-going to be unstable. You're more frustrated with yourself, for raising your hopes, convincing yourself that somehow, being with _**you**_ has nudged him along the path of recovery. Simultenously, you also understand that recovery- _**progress**_ -isn't simply just like a straight line travelling up the axis of a graph. It's a multitude of vast improvements and setbacks.

However, you are more wary of the super-soldier than before. He was so easily provoked-and if Steve hadn't been there....well, you don't care to imagine what would have happened.

To distract yourself, you begin filling the cupboards and fridge with your newly bought groceries.

"[Your Name]?" Steve's voices calls softly to you, from the doorway to the living room. Despite the quiet volume of his tone, still on-edge, you jolt and drop a packet of spaghetti on the counter. "Hey, it's okay, it's fine. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you-" He says.

"Sorry, I'm just-"

"I understand." Steve assures you. "Buck's just sleeping now. I'm not sure what got him into that state, but I do know this-I shouldn't have left him alone. It was stupid of me" He rebukes himself.

"Don't, Steve. He even insisted that you come with me."

"Of course he would. Who wants to feel like they need to be _**looked after**_?"

"Well, I screwed up, too. If I'd told you to stay here, he might have been okay. But you would felt bad for letting me go alone, and I suspect Bucky would have too. Plus-while I acknowledge being alone probably unsettled him,-who's to say he wouldn't have been triggered by something else, even if you were here?"

"Fair point." Steve concedes. "At the very least, you might not have been hurt." He adds, bitterly. His acrimoniousness isn't directed at Bucky, but at himself.

"Please, don't beat yourself up about this, Steve. I'm not the one who got bruises and a bloody nose." You remind him, with a doleful smile, though his bruises have already started to disappear.

"I can handle bruises and blood. I've been in combat, [Your Name]." He says, stony-faced. "I think...maybe I should take him back to Stark Tower with me."

 

You stare at him for a few moments, before fully processing his words. Inside, you're torn-one half feeling oddly relieved at not having to live in fear of another 'episode', the other half disappointed.

"If...if that's what you think...is appropriate. Whatever helps him recover." You struggle to tell him, hoping that saying the words will make you look at the situation from a logical stand-point. _**The hell it does**_ , you think forlornly.

"He'll be supervised. There's always someone at the Tower. And Sam's there most of the time, he'll be able to counsel Bucky." Steve says, as if trying to justify his decision by providing substantial reasons.

"Good. That'll be good for him." You say.

"Would you...be okay with that?" Steve's eyes search your own intently, as if trying to decipher the thoughts flooding your mind with a look.

"Yes. Absolutely." You fake conviction, even giving the super-soldier's arm a friendly squeeze. "It's for the best." _**Why am I so unhappy about this? I sure as hell don't want to be threatened with death again, but that wasn't really Bucky. That was the 'weapon' he was turned into. But I can't look after, never mind LIVE with, someone like that...yet....**_ you find yourself thinking.

 _ **I'm going to miss him. I'll feel lonely.**_ You admit to yourself.

This whole thing has become so much more complicated than you initally thought it would be.

 


	7. Saying Goodbye Hurts So Damn Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry. This chapter is pretty morose...
> 
> Please enjoy...and don't hate me for punching you in the emotions :')

You're perched on the arm of your couch, keeping a close eye on Bucky-sleeping fitfully on his side, his expression the antithesis of serene. His arms are wound around himself, fists clenching every now and then. You wish you could somehow enter his bad dream, and act as an ethereal guardian angel, a soothing balm to lull him into catharsis.

Steve is in the kitchen, speaking to his fellow Avenger-Tony Stark- on his cellphone.

"...Stark, he can't stay here. He had...a _**relapse**_ ...he nearly k- he nearly _**harmed**_ a friend of mine he's been staying with-" He's understandably reluctant to say 'killed'. There's a moment of quiet, before Steve-you assume-interrupts Tony-

" _ **Yes**_ I was gonna say 'killed'. I didn't **want** to, but yes, he did. Which is exactly _**why**_ he can't stay in her apartment. Stark, he nearly _**knocked me out**_...how do you think [Your Name] is gonna cope if he becomes violent again?" You're surprised that Steve is having to negotiate with the billionaire.

"I am aware that he could cause disruption at the Tower. But _**at least**_ he'll have people around who are able to _**help him**_ if he does experience any issues."

You glance back at the sleeping super-soldier, and notice him trembling. Regardless of the cause being fear or a sudden chill, you grab a nearby blanket and slowly drape it over him. When flinches and his body jerks abruptly at the contact, you freeze, but Bucky-fortunately-doesn't wake from his slumber. You settle yourself on the floor, in front of the couch, near his head. Being so close to him is making you rather nervous, yet fuelling an overwhelming urge to wrap your arms around him to protect him from the pain he's suffered. The way his brows are slanting up, the creases appearing in his forehead and the occasional drowsy mutterings and imploring whimpers aren't so much tugging- but _**yanking furiously**_ -at the delicate strings of your heart, playing a dischorded tune of sympathy,  _ **affection**_ , anxiety,  _ **resentment**_ (which is unsual) and sorrow-an unharmonious melody of emotion.

 

Toying with fire, you reach out to him.

You're practically dancing with burning tendrils of flame when you place your hand on his head.

Yet he doesn't react. He just continues sleeping.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you begin to lovingly brush your fingers through his chestnut locks, more dishevelled now than it was this morning. Then something wonderful happens.

He stops shaking, ceases to fidget and clench his fists. Even the expression on his face softens, becomes something- _ **not quite**_ **-** but **close** to tranquil. Seeing that sends a warmth spreading through your chest, and brings a smile to your face. Without thinking, you start to sing softly to him the lullaby you'd used the previous night.

"Thanks, Stark. I appreciate it. I'll bring him by later on, he's just resting up for now." You hear Steve conclude his conversation with the now-acceding Tony. The sound of a chair scraping back across the floor and footsteps filter into the living room. Soon, Steve is stood in the doorway, slipping his phone back into his jacket pocket. His expression, initially, is that of alarm, when he sees you stroking his best friend's hair. You look him in the eyes and begin singing more audibly, allowing him time to catch on. His apprehension disappears, and is replaced by a melancholic look. His facial wounds have vanished, and the dried blood wiped away. It's as if nothing had happened.

 _ **But something happened. That's why he's got to take Bucky away,**_ you contemplate woefully.

"Could I talk to you?" Steve mouths, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen. You nod, letting your voice fade out slowly on the last note you were singing, before placing an affectionate kiss on Bucky's forehead. There's a sting of remorse within you when you notice him tense up at the loss of contact. You steadily rise to your feet and follow Steve into your dining room/kitchen.

 

"I'm guessing you pretty much heard the conversation?" Steve asks, in a hushed tone.

"Yeah. You managed to come to an agreement with Tony."

"Yep. Buck's gonna stay with me, in my living quarters. He'll be monitored closely. The catch is, if he has another...setback...Stark will have his security guys use tranquilizers on him. He says he doesn't want an ' ** _ex-HYDRA assassin with a metal arm jacked up on glorified steroids, and topped with major psychological damage_** ' running riot in the Tower.

"When he puts it like that, it's gonna sound bad." You mutter begrudgingly. "Fair enough. As long as Bucky's _**safe**_. And able to improve. That's what counts." You say dutifully, an uncomfortable lump in your throat as you do so.

"Hmm." The super-soldier hums in concurrence. "I'm glad you understand, [Your Name]. I know you care about him too-so this must be kinda difficult for you."

"Mind-reader." You tease half-heartedly. "Crazy, right? I've only known him since last night, and he's managed to work his way into my heart. Damn." You admit, vaguely dejected. Steve chuckles softly at your words.

"Buck's one of those people who can do that. He's a lovable jerk, huh?"

"He is indeed." You reply distractedly, backing up into the doorway and restoring Bucky into your view. You fold your arms across your chest and watch the sleeping super-soldier. Mere seconds pass before he wakes up and sits bolt up right, wheezing and panting, hands scrabbling at the couch fabric.

"Steve-" You call to the blond. The two of you hurry to the ex-assassin's aid. He appears more lucid and is aware of your presence, and as opposed to 'locking up', he leans forward, placing his head in his hands, and his body is quaking persistently.

"Buck?" Steve crouches down, in front his beloved friend, his face the essence of concern.

"I killed them...so many...I killed them, Steve..." He sobs, voice cracking with emotion.

" _ **You**_ didn't, Buck. The Winter Soldier did. Because of HYDRA."

"What difference does it make? _**I**_ was **still** the one who killed them." Bucky's tone is thick with anguish. Steve nudges his forehead against his best friend's, signifying the bond between the two of them, and to offer any form of consolation. Bucky leans into the touch, but the crying doesn't stop.

  _ **What I feel doesn't matter right now. He needs help that I can't give him**_ , you think,  _ **I just wish it wasn't so difficult to accept that.**_

 

* * *

 

 

After Bucky regains some semblance of 'calm', as much as is possible for someone with the trauma he's experienced, you encourage him to take another shower to help dispel a small fraction of the tension. You even place a fresh t-shirt out for him, before returning to your living room. Steve is idly tapping his fingertips against the powder blue ceramic of a coffee cup, faint whisps of steam rising from the beverage inside and curling in mid-air before fading. He gives you a weary smile, evidently deep in thought. You settle on the couch next to him, bringing your feet up to tuck them beneath you.

"Is he okay?" Steve asks after some minutes of contemplative silence.

"Kinda. Still pretty cut up over the things he remembered." You tell Steve gravely. "What triggered all of this? I know we left him alone, but..."

"Hard to say. It can be a lot of things. Words, hearing noises that sound familiar, seeing certain things. Sometimes...it just _**happens**_."

"Shit." Is all that you're able to say.

"Yeah. It is." Steve adds glumly. You stretch your arm across and place a hand on his arm.

"Don't let this eat you up, Steve. You've found him, you've been able to finally talk to him...the problems he's facing are an obstacle, but you've already jumped through several damn hoops to try and find him. _**This**_ can be resolved. I can honestly say, hand on heart, Bucky's is fricking fortunate to have a best friend like you, because you're more likely to chew your own arm off than ever give up on him." You say with unyielding confidence.

"Thanks, [Your Name]." Steve practically glows with delight at your uplifting morale boost, which brings a sedate smile to your face. The door to your bedroom creaks open, so you and Steve turn in the direction of the sound. Bucky is poking his head through, peering around, as though circumspect to enter the room. His bionic hand has the edge of the door in a solid grip. _**He really doesn't like the doors in my apartment**_ , you remark mentally, thinking of your ill-fated front door.

 

"Hey, Buck. How are you feeling?" Steve sets his coffee down on a side table, adjacent to the couch, giving his childhood friend his full attention.

"I don't know." Bucky replies, almost vacantly. Steve clasps his hands together and looks at the other man for short while.

"Stupid question, I guess. I got some good news, Buck. Well, I've got some _**beneficial**_ news." The blond begins, awkwardly. Bucky doesn't speak, instead waiting for Steve to continue speaking. "You know how I live with the Avengers at Stark Tower? I called Tony-Howard's boy, you remember Howard Stark? So, I called Tony and spoke to him about bringing you back to Stark Tower with me. You'll always have people around, and you'll get the help and support you need on a regular basis. Does that-does that sound okay?"

Steve eagerly awaits a response from his friend, who appears to have been rendered unable to speak.

"Is this because of what I did earlier?" Bucky questions him, utterly guilt-ridden.

"No, no, this is because...I think it would be helpful for you to have people around, people able to deal with the stuff you're going through, Buck-"

"No. You think I'm a fucked up psycho who needs to be kept under guard! Kept _**under control**_! I've had my fucking share of being  _ **controlled**_ , Steve!" The brunet barks, in a sudden state of animosity. He throws the door wide open and paces into the living room, his eyes fixing his friend with a hostile glare.

"No, Bucky! That's-that's not what this is about!" Steve protests, leaping to his feet. "This is about helping you recover!"

"Getting your _**friends**_ to keep a watch on me?! What happens if I 'act up', huh, Steve?! What's the catch?! Do I get put down, like a fucking dog?!" Bucky demands, face contorted in outrage. You hunch up on the couch, hugging your knees and silently beg for his foul temper to pass.

"Buck, please, calm down. Please. That's not how it's gonna be. I'm taking you away, because _**yes**_ , you had a violent outburst earlier on-but that's the PTSD! Something you _**need**_ treatment for, and Sam can counsel you as often as he can if you move in with me at Stark Tower! If you **_stay here_** , you could end up being triggered again and-"

"Hurting [Your Name]." Bucky predicts, no longer angry, but now positively wretched.

 

"You're right, Steve. I'll come with you. I'm sorry for....I'm sorry, Steve. I'm sorry, [Your Name]. My head's just...I'm so...I'm..." He rakes his hands through his tangled hair, a pained expression in place.

"Buck, _**it's okay**_." Steve reassures him firmly, and approaches him slowly. "It's okay." He repeats. Steve holds his arms out to his best friend, as if seeking permission to hug him. Bucky pins him with a wary glance, but doesn't recoil. The blond places his hands carefully on the brunet's shoulders, watching closely for any sign of discomfort.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Buck. I'd never hurt you, and I'll make sure **nobody** does." Steve vows, gradually winding his arms around Bucky, at the level of his shoulder blades. The ex-assassin appears discomfited, initially, going rigid in the embrace. "You're gonna be okay, Bucky." Steve insists, undeterred by his friend's reluctance to reciprocate affection.

Much to your surprise, however, Bucky soon leans into the hug. He tenatively raises his own arms, allowing him to place his flesh hand and bionic hand on Steve's upper back. He abruptly moves his bionic hand away, letting it hover in mid-air, and glares at it in contempt over Steve's shoulder.

 _ **He doesn't want to taint his best friend with something he sees as a tool for murder**_ , you speculate, sombrely.

While you're pleased they've reconciled after their brief conflict, and glad to see them rekindling their friendship-you can't help but feel slightly _**left out**_ , an observer to this little bubble encapsulating the both of them, these best friends since childhood. To one another, they are all that remains of a time that's the now subject of history textbooks.

"I remember asking about you, Steve-" Bucky begins, plaintively, his eyes reddening. "When they...sent me on another...when I had to go and-it...it was in the _**eighties**_... sometimes, my memory would start coming back. And I remembered you. I asked where you were." Tears start to roll down his cheeks. "They told me...told me you were _**dead**_ , Steve. Then they wiped me. Like they always did when I started to remember." His voice is so full of lamentation, you have to clench your teeth and hold your breath in a desperate struggle to stop tears falling down your own face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You've always hated the big 'goodbyes'. They're either awkward as hell or agonisingly painful.

Today has been a giant shit-storm. Simultaneously, you want it to be over, so you can forget about it in time-but  yet, you wish time would halt, so you don't have to **suffer** the next few minutes of bidding farewell to this tormented, shaggy-haired man, who entered your life as quickly as he's now leaving it. This shaggy-haired man who has somehow, in the space of a night and morning, managed to burrow his way into the depths of your heart.

 _ **Fuck**_ ** _him_ ** , you think , _**fuck him for doing this to me**_ , yet your resentful thoughts are barely capable of shattering this mystifying loyalty you've developed towards the super-soldier.

"Thank you, [Your Name]. For...for helping me." Bucky tells you earnestly.

"It's no problem, Bucky. But I couldn't help you enough."

"You did your best. Not your fault that I'm... _ **not right**_." He gestures vaguely at his own head, frowning as he does so.

"But you _**will be**_. Like you said, yourself, this morning- you may not be the person you were before all of this, but you can be a _**recovered**_ version." You gently take hold of the hand he used to gesture at himself with.

"Hmm..." He hums, as though not entirely persuaded by his own words any longer.

"You _**can**_ **.** And you _**will**_. I believe in you, Bucky-"

"Even after I nearly _**killed**_ you? " He asks, his tone drenched with self-loathing.

 

"Not _**you**_. That was the weapon HYDRA made. Not _**you**_. _**You**_ are a good man." You reiterate assertively. "I hope you come to understand that. I hope things get better for you, Bucky. I can only wish you the best of luck, but I know you don't **need it** because you _**will**_ overcome this." You squeeze his hand, to emphasise your seemingly unwavering faith in him.

"Thank you." He looks whole-heartedly touched by your words.

"I'm gonna miss you, you big dope." You tell him, the lump in your throat aching.

"I'll miss you too." Bucky's beautiful eyes gaze into your own.

"You've not even been here two days, and the place is going to seem empty without you." You confess, your voice starting to crack, and your eyes growing slightly blurry with welling tears. 

"Please don't be upset, [Your Name]." Bucky says imploringly.

"I'm trying. It's kinda difficult." You point out, with a wan smile.

"We can see each other again, can't we? When-when I start improving. I **want** to see you again."

"That'd be nice, Bucky." You say, with a sensation in your chest that can only be described as someone wringing your heart like it's a wet towel.

"Goodbye, [Your Name]." He finally says, looking crestfallen.

"Goodbye, Bucky." You bid him, leaning in to place a small kiss on his cheek. You breathe in his scent, for what you have convinced yourself is the last time, relish the texture of his skin against your lips, the warmth of his breath. You drink in the shine of his chestnut locks, and squeeze his hand once more.

"C'mon, Buck." Steve encourages his best friend tactfully. Bucky's tapered fingers, and slightly coarse palm slip gently from your hold. He doesn't break eye contact, even as Steve offers you a companionable farewell embrace.

Steve exits the apartment first, with Bucky directly behind him. The brunet turns his head, to give you one last look-a look that combines longing, sorrow and apprehension.

And then he's gone.

 

The apartment seems so eerily quiet....

 


	8. Lonely, But Not For Long...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's departure is weighing heavily on you, and your emotions yo-yo unbearably.
> 
> But not all hope is lost....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologise beforehand at how depressing this chapter is :3 and if Reader seems slightly 'emo-ish' (though goodness knows I tried to avoid that as much as possible)...
> 
> If anyone wonders, or is even remotely curious, about the specific descriptions of the 'darker' emotions Reader feels in this chapter-they're based on some of the things I felt during the really bad 'lows' I used to get :s blech, nasty times. 
> 
> I know it probably seems a bit presumptious to do that, but I hoped it would make it more realistic, and not artificial or cliched.
> 
> I assure you all, things will pick up after this chapter-and be much happier :) 
> 
> Also, sorry for this being a short chapter. It was kind of an intense one to write, so I kept it brief :'s

Somehow, you manage not to burst into tears for the duration of the weekend. Despite the silence, the feeling of something being _**missing**_ from your life.

Not a single tear is shed when you stare at the pillow he'd used for **_one_ ** night, before drifting into a peaceful slumber yourself. Even as you note the crumpled cotton of the pillow-case, and a few medium length, dark brown hairs still stuck to the fabric-your eyes don't well up. But there is an uncomfortable ache in your chest.

Carrying out your usual morning routine, preparing for work, you do so with a numb apathy. Even Pippin's rattling purrs aren't enough to coax a fond chuckle from you, or cause a smile to tug at your lips.

Walking to work for your morning shift, you barely glance at a single person in the sea of passing faces-keeping your face an expressionless mask- as you travel along the agonisingly unremarkable and tediously familiar route to the cafe. People cast their eyes across your face from time to time, and you wonder if they can _**sense**_ this emptiness, this feeling of loss within you. For a few moments, you're comforted by a warped notion of solidarity between yourself and these random fellow pedestrians. That is, until they look away, returning their focus to the path ahead of them, to their _**own lives**_ and their own troubles. It dawns on you that nobody actually knows or _**cares**_ about how you're feeling.

That's when the detachment begins gnawing away at you.

 

Finally at the cafe, you set to carrying out your tasks with a robotic compliance, offering practised smiles and engaging in the usual mindless small talk with people you don't give two shits about. _**I just have to do this for six hours. Should be a piece of cake**_ , you tell yourself nonchalantly.

It _**is**_ surprisingly bearable for the first hour. You keep your mind occupied with toasting sandwiches and paninis,  preparing lattes, or even fixing up elaborate smoothies for people who are utterly convinced that the more exotic the ingredients, the greater the health benefits. _**Guava berries, turning people into super-humans on a daily basis**_ , you joke to yourself cynically.

 _ **Super-human**_ , you repeat mentally. The ache in your chest returns for a fleeting moment. You quickly carry on with your barista duties, in a desperate attempt to bundle _**emotions you really don't want to feel**_ to the back of your mind. _**People always say that, 'Push it to the back of your mind'. I wonder why? Jeez, the backs of our minds must be fucking abysmal places,**_ you contemplate.

After that, things become more of a struggle. The next hour passes so slowly, it's as if each minute is a grain of salt forcing itself through a gap no larger than a pin-prick. You overhear snatches of conversations between customers in the cafe, or fellow employees bustling around-you seem tuned in to any word that reminds you of _**him**_.

 _ **How has he managed to do this to me? How is it possible?**_ You demand of yourself.

"...I'm craving **ice-cream** so badly for some reason..."

"...hey, seriously- it's cool, man! I'm glad ya told me! I'll be sure to break out my **rainbow** flag for ya..."

"...he has, he really has-Mr **Barnes** has just been on my case constantly since I dropped a grade-but, c'mon, that assignment was so difficult..."

Your mind begins swimming, flailing hopelessly, through a sea of disjointed thoughts upon hearing familiar words . Your throat clamps up, and your chest tightens. Another barista-Andrea-touches your arm, concern written across her face.

"You okay there, honey? You look like you're gonna puke?" She asks you, tilting her head as if to examine your expression.

"I-I'm, fine, Andrea. Really. I just-I didn't sleep so well last night, so I'm sorta feeling out of it today." You lie, faking a bleary-eyed look to assist in your deception.

"Well, if need to, go take your break a little early. I won't tell if you won't!" She winks playfully, nudging you lightly with her elbow.

"Yeah. Thanks, Andie." You manage your first sincere smile of the day, and resume your occupational duties.

 

With the teasing patter between Andrea and another member of staff in the background, you finally begin to smile, even small exhales of huffing laughter pass from between your lips occasionally. Every reticent smile, stifled chuckle, starts to gradually lift the sunken anchor-like weight that is your mood. Before long, wide grins spread across your face, your delighted laughter chimes melodically through the cafe upon hearing the amusing exchange between your co-workers. As your thoughts brighten, pulling away from the darkened corners of your mind, you feel yourself become more gregarious-throwing a witty, humorous comment or two into the conversations between fellow employees, grinning mischievously at their feigned looks of offense or shock, relishing this sudden burst of effervescence.

Instead of grieving Bucky's departure from your life, yearning desperately for his return-you think more positively. You hope he's settling in well, feeling comfortable, and starting his counselling with Sam. You wonder if he's thinking of you at this moment, and the prospect-whether it be false or accurate-sends a pleasant warmth flooding through your heart.

 _ **I will see him. I will. It might not be for a while, but I'll see him again. He said, before he left, he WANTED to see me again,**_ you remind yourself assertively.

Then you see him-

_**No. No damn way!** _

Through the large windows of the cafe, you see a young man- of Bucky's stature, with beautifully tousled, shoulder-length chocolate brown hair-making a purposeful beeline towards the cafe entrance.

_**No! He doesn't even know where I work! How can he-maybe Steve told him? Would he be well enough to visit me?!** _

Hope burns brightly within you, and you stand straight, staring at the door in anticipation.

_**Maybe...just maybe...** _

 

When the door opens, that awful, sinking weight drags your very core down into the pit, where your now extinguished fire of kindled hope had, momentarily, been burning. The guy is looking directly at you as he enters the cafe and strolls toward the counter to pick out a pack of sandwiches.

He's definitely not Bucky. His face is narrower, nose slightly longer and pointed, lips thinner than Bucky's sensuous pout. This guy is undoubtedly handsome, but he couldn't hold a candle to the super-soldier.

He then approaches the cash register to pay for his food, with a beaming smile in place. You soon realise he's smiling at _**you**_. You return the pleasant gesture, as- despite him not being the person you _**truly**_ want to see-he has a gloriously infectious grin. The guy places his sandwiches down, allowing you to enter the price into the register.

"Anything else?" You ask automatically.

"Regular Americano, please." He tells you politely. As you enter the drink into the register, he fishes around in his jeans pocket-for money, you presume. "Y'know, if I'd known they had such **_stunning_**   baristas here, I would've started coming here a long time ago." He adds. While he delivers the line with relative confidence, you hear a slight timid waver in his voice-like he's not entirely sure about flirting, but he summoned up the courage to do so. You feel a combination of annoyance-simply because he's _**not Bucky**_ -and flattery-seeing as he's easy on the eyes. _**He's got incredible eyes, like twin lakes catching the moonlight, just like...**_

"Well, at least this way, _**I'm**_ the one to give you a warm welcome." You say, in a silky tone of voice, with a coquettish half-smile.  _ **What? What am I doing?**_ You ask yourself, appalled. 

 

The guy blushes, a demure smile on his lips. Judging by his reaction, you figure he's _**never flirted before**_ and has no idea what to say if he was ever successful. He all but confirms it in his next few words-

"I...um....yeah. I'm glad. Sorry, I've never...I probably came off as kinda forward-" He admits bashfully, a dusting of rose across his cheeks.

"It's okay, really. No need to apologise. Flirt away, buddy, it's incredibly flattering from a handsome guy like yourself." You reassure him kindly.

"Oh, um, thank you!" He expresses his gratitude for the compliment with an adorable smile. "I meant it. What I said. You really are stunning." He adds, placing down a five dollar note to pay for his food and drink.

"Thank you." You cock your head to one side, flashing him a playful, kitten-ish look. You notice his Adam's apple bob up and down, evidence of him swallowing nervously. _**Am I only flirting with him because he's the closest thing to Bucky I'll find?**_ You speculate darkly.

After he collects his coffee, the would-be Bucky lookalike settles himself down at a table so he can have his lunch. He keeps sneaking furtive peeks at you, as though _**looking**_ at you is some illicit activity.

With the timid looks, and the way his dark hair forms a curtain around his face-you can kid yourself that he's Bucky.

 _ **But he's not him! I want Bucky,**_ your frustration laying thick on your thoughts. Roiled by guilt for giving off signals, for leading this sweet guy on _**because he looks like a man you knew for less than two days but have somehow become madly besotted with**_ , you call to Andrea that you're taking your break.

 

You sit at a table in the staff lounge, settled in one the vile, orange plastic chairs, elbows propped up on the table as you hang your head in your hands.

 _ **Don't lose your mind over him. You can STILL go and see him. When he's feeling better,**_ you reiterate to yourself. _**If he ever improves. What if he's like this forever? A broken man, destroyed by what's he been through, what he was made to do...**_ you ruminate.

_**It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. Why am I so crazy about him? I knew him for a fucking NIGHT AND MORNING! How can I become this attached to someone? Why do I care so much? You can't fall for someone so quickly. We barely know anything about one another, really. I can't just pick up the phone and hold up a conversation with him. He isn't capable of doing that, not in the state he's in.** _

_**What life experience do we share? He's a guy from the forties, who was enslaved by an organisation who brainwashed him, and kept him on ice until they needed him to assassinate people!** _

_**Even if he was okay...if that stuff had never happened, if he'd been like Steve-unsettled, perhaps, but not a victim of fucking horrendous traumas....what do we know about each other? I don't know what he's likes to do. What his personal values and beliefs are. Even the sweet, stupid stuff like what weird food combinations he enjoys, the faces he pulls if something annoys him...** _

_**But I'm nuts about him.** _

Your head feels like a battle-ground for your thoughts. You press your fingers over your temples, desperately trying to switch your mind to something,  _ **anything**_ else.

It doesn't work as well you'd have liked.

 

When you finally finish work, and walk back to your apartment building, you trudge up the stairwell to your place.

All you want to do is lie on your sofa, curl up into a ball, and stare into space. Doing nothing is the only thing you can think of doing, because to do _**anything**_ at all would bring no joy or satisfaction. It would simply leave you feeling even more empty.

But then you see the apartment door.

Still in need of repair. The hinges still broken from when Bucky must have knocked it down.

You finally burst into a flood of tears. The sadness that's been weighing heavy in your heart comes pouring out, spilling down your cheeks, escaping in wailing sobs.

Because of a damn door.

You push the offending door open and enter your apartment, weeping inconsolably.

You slope off to your living room, dropping your bag on the floor, and collapse onto the couch-a crying wreck. You want his company, his demure smiles, to hear his laugh, to see the delight in his face as a fond memory of his past reveals itself to him. You want to see the look of adoration in those beautiful eyes of his again.

You want Bucky with you again.

 

Some minutes later, you stop crying, instead just shaking with dry sobs. Your head and eyes ache, your cheeks are soaked and your nose feels disgustingly blocked. As you sit up, an aching throb travels through your head, and you have to keep sniffling. You pad back into the kitchen to retrieve your discarded bag, before wandering aimlessly back into the living room. Out of curiosity, you fish your phone out of your bag, and switch it on to check for any messages. You know _**who**_ you want a message from, but you don't hedge your bets.

Elation galvanises you when a text message alert pops up.

_**Please let it be Steve, please let it be Steve. Maybe Bucky's feeling better, maybe-** _

It's simply a message from your network provider, updating you on their latest offers.

 _ **Fuckers. Fucking assholes**_ , you positively snarl in your head.

That is until a voice mail alert appears on your screen. Hopeful once more, you call your voice mailbox to hear the message. A smile spreads across your face when you hear a familiar, deep voice-

" _ **Hey, [Your Name]. It's Steve. Just wanted to let you know, Bucky's doing a little better. He's more lucid, but of course, it's only been a couple of days. His mood keeps changing, but he's reasonably stable for the time being. He's been asking about you, though. I figured, maybe you'd like to come and visit us at Stark Tower in a few days? Just call back whenever you can, we can sort out a day and time. He really wants to see you again. Talk to you later, [Your Name]. Keep safe.**_ "

That brief message grants your wish.

You'll definitely see Bucky again.

You've not lost him....you _**never**_ lost him.


	9. I'll Be Seeing You Again, My Darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm so sorry for not updating sooner-I honestly didn't know where to go with this chapter. Admittedly, that's why this one's a little short...that, and because I reeeeaaaallly wanted to get a new chapter out.
> 
> Once I get going, however, that'll get the old creative juices flowing (whoo, I rhymed!)-so I'm hoping to churn out some more chapters in the upcoming weeks ^.^ 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :) again, I'm sorry about this being quite short...I shall try to get another chapter written soon, but I can't make any guarantees because of certain 'academic commitments' :3

Fingers fumbling over the keypad of your phone, you terminate the call to your voice mail and access your contact list. With a few small swipes of your thumb, you scroll down to Steve's information. Inhaling deeply, stomach fluttering with the flurry of emotions-anticipation, excitement, anxiety, elation-you call him.

The electronic, ringing tone fills the ear you've crushed your cellphone against.

You expect to hear the tone cease, to hear the national icon's voice greet you, but instead, the dull, ringing drones on. Until you hear a 'click' at the other end. You open your mouth, ready to greet Steve jubilantly-

" _ **Hi, this is Steve's voice-mail. Sorry I can't answer your call, but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you.**_ " The recorded message tells you in Steve's soothing voice. With a deflated sigh, you proceed to leave a voice-mail-

"Hey, Steve. It's [Your Name]. I only just got back from work and heard your message. I'd absolutely love to visit! And seeing as I get Fridays off, would it be cool for me to come along at, say, eleven a.m _**this** _ Friday? Just call me back when you can, we can fix something up. Talk you to later, Steve." You can barely contain your excitement-so the very second you end the call, you drop your phone on the couch, and begin drumming your feet on the floor, squealing ecstatically.

In your moment of celebration, you leap up and begin dancing-swinging your arms, rocking your hips from side to side and shaking your backside-in a fashion which is probably best kept in the safety of your own apartment, where there are no social standards to maintain. You start singing, to no specific tune, formulating your own lyrics-

" _ **Huh, huh, gonna get me some Bucky,**_

_**I'm feeling so damn lucky,** _

_**That dark hair, and them baby blues,** _

_**And an ass I'd like to grab till I leave a bruise-**_ " You make a bawdy honking noise, thrusting your pelvis back and forth in a manner which would bring a tear of joy to Francois Rabelais' eye. When you finish your somewhat obscene dance, you punctuate the outburst with a celebratory whoop, before collpasing back down onto your couch. For the next few minutes, you drift off into a peaceful day-dream of sweeping into Stark Tower and sprinting into the strong arms of your dark-haired sweetheart. Remebering, then, that if you were to attempt such an action, Bucky-being so unstable-would be petrified into a state of confusion, and pole drive you into the nearest wall.

Picturing the rather chaotic scene in your mind, you narrowly avoid recognising the familiar trill of your cellphone's tune. With reflexes that could induce a sense of inadequacy in Steve, you practically launch yourself at the phone and answer the call, double-time.

 

"Hello?!" You greet the caller excitedly.

"Hey, [Your Name], I just got your message! I was just having dinner with Bucky-jeez, his appetite is something crazy now. He's just eaten six rounds of scrambled eggs on toast and now he's asking for a snack-" Steve tells you, utterly aghast. You giggle, reassured by this sign of 'normal' behaviour.

"Uh huh, and I'm totally sure you're not making goo-goo eyes at some bagels right now?"

"Shhh, nothing's getting between me and the cinnamon swirls, [Your Name]." He says, discreetly. You hoot merrily with laughter. "Anyhow, about Friday-that should be fine. Unless some crisis throws the city into disarray, we'll make it a definite thing-"

"Eee! Yay!" You squeak elatedly. Steve huffs out a chuckle.

"Well, I'm glad you're excited. I'll let Bucky know-in fact, I'll do it right now-"

"Oh, Steve, you don't-"

"Hey, Buck, [Your Name]'s visiting this Friday, at eleven. You okay with that?" There's a momentary pause. "Y'know, he's got a really goofy smile on his face." He informs you, in a supposedly 'hushed' tones. "Buck, don't give me that look, it's no secret you've been desperate to see her-"

" _ **Steve**_!" You hear Bucky hiss.

" _ **What**_ ? You never used to be so shy about women-" The national icon teases his friend.

" _ **Shuddup, Steve**_ !"

"Oh dear, trouble in paradise..." You comment, amusement drenching your words.

"S'okay, Buck, I'll stop. He's such a drama queen- _**don't gimme that look again**_ \- but yes, Friday, eleven, absolutely. Come to Stark Tower, I'll let Tony know you're visting. It'll be great to see you, [Your Name]. And Bucky whole-heartedly agrees. Wanna say a few words, jerk?" Steve says, obviously asking his best friend.

 

"Steve, has anyone ever told you you're an adorable shit sometimes?"

"I get told that a lot. Mostly by Tony. Only, for some reason, he doesn't mention how adorable I am. Now, c'mon, Buck, take the phone-"

"I don't know how to use that thing!" You hear Bucky complain.

"You literally just put it next to your ear and talk-that's the beauty of modern technology, buddy!"

"What if something happens? I've seen it do things when you press the screen! It doesn't even have any buttons!" Bucky declares scathingly.

"Relax, Buck, just take the phone, and then....speak!" You hear movement on Steve's end, the crackle of the phone being passed over.

"Umm...hi, [Your Name]?" Bucky greets you with uncertainty.

"Hey, Bucky. See, you're using a phone now." You praise him as a mother would praise their toddler, with a warm tenderness to your voice.

"Yeah. Catching up with the twenty-first century. It's an interesting experience."

"It will be, but you'll be fine. Just remember- don't stand in front of the microwave when it's on."

You wish you could see his physical reaction, because judging by the sudden silence, you suspect a deep blush has spread across his face at the memory. Your suspicions are confirmed by Steve's inquiry-

"What are you two talking about? Buck, you've gone all red, what's wrong?"

"Um, mm-hmm-" The ex-assassin clears his throat "-nothing. Just reminsicing, Steve. I'm looking forward to seeing you on Friday, [Your Name]." Your heart flutters at this admission, and you have to stop yourself-with all your power-from shrieking aloud.

"I can't wait, Bucky."

"See you then." His voice is soft, gentle, smooth as marbled ganache across cake.

"Bye, Bucky."

A short silence ensues, soon broken by a bashful confession-

"I don't know how to turn this thing off."

 

Following a brief 'kerfuffle', and Steve having to take back the phone, bid you farewell then take the opportunity to show Bucky how to end a call-you finally slip your own phone back into your bag, and prepare for a good night's rest.

Instead of staring brokenly at the pillow where Bucky's head had lain, touching the cotton case as if it would cause him to materialise, so you could weave your fingers through his thick, silken dark locks-you merely glance at the pillow, let your eyelids drop and drift into the most peaceful slumber you've had since Bucky's departure. 

In your dreams, you walk towards him-your surroundings lit by morning sunshine-arms outstretched, smiling, and he greets you with equal ardour, a smile that epitomises beauty itself spreading across his face. You feel the warmth of his body, and comfort of his arms wrapped around you.

You finally realise and _**accept**_ the truth in the wonderful euphoria of your dream.

You're falling in love with Bucky Barnes....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, in case anyone was curious, Francois Rabelais was apparently, like, the father of bawdy humour and satire...amazing what you can find out about just by checking the online thesauraus for other words to describe 'rude' XD hey nonny-nonny!


	10. Together Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, my fant-abulous readers! In the spirit of Valentine's Day, it seemed incredibly appropriate to publish this update ^.^
> 
> My writer's block has temporarily subsided, and my inspiration has returned! :D for the time being at least! Hooray!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D

You wake up early on the Friday morning-far too restless with excitement to sleep in-and spend the hours available to you pampering yourself. You indulge in a hot soak in the tub, taking advantage of your ever amassing collection of scented soaps and bath oils, and then wash your hair; to restore it to its glorious, shimmering lustre, and leave it with a delicate fragrance.

Relishing the bountiful preparation time you've given yourself, you unhurriedly dry and style your hair to utter perfection. Next comes the choice of outfit-but there's minimal hesitation, as you immediately select [your favourite smart casual outfit], having had planned it in advance during your tedious hours at work, where day-dreaming is the only means to maintaining your sanity.

Twirling and striking poses in front of your mirror, you unashamedly admire yourself, feeling glamourous both inside and out. You apply the finishing touches of make-up, keeping it fairly light and natural, seeking only to subtly emphasise and enhance your own beautiful features. When you finally finish getting ready, you take one more look at yourself in the mirror, a huge smile spreading across your face as you think-

 _ **Yep, I look scalding hot and I know it! Time to get my man**_ , you half-giggle to yourself at the fierce determination of your own thoughts.

Striding out of your apartment-and being able to close your now fully repaired door-you greet the world with confidence and a contagious sense of cheer.

 

Making your way through the city, you notice numerous glances, stares and double-takes aimed at you. Whether they be from men or women, you simply elect to smile cordially in their direction and continue on your way to Stark Tower, with a spring in your step. Being so certain of where to go, you pay less attention to your surroundings-focusing mainly on not walking into anybody-and soon begin drifting off into a world of your own making. Unfortunately, the combination of day-dreaming and walking through a  busy city street-bustling with fellow pedestrians-proves to be a poor one indeed, when you bump into a young man.

Apologising, a blush spreading across your face, you look at the guy you've walked into. Dark shoulder length hair, blue eyes, broad and manly physique....

 **Oh boy**....

It is in fact the Bucky look-a-like from the cafe, whose name you'd found out-over the course of the days since meeting him-is Luke. A student in his second year at college, avidly studying for a Bachelor's degree in Graphic Design.

He's incredibly sweet, but completely besotted with you. It was inevitable, you figured, after having made him feel confident and attractive when he made the bold move of flirting with you. The only issue is that the affection is not as ardently reciprocated on your part.

 

"Oh, hey there, [Your Name]. Sorry for walking into you like that. I wasn't looking where I was going. Wow. You-you look amazing..." He gabbles nervously.

"Hey, Luke. Don't worry about it, I was in a whole other world-I walked into _**you**_ , so I'm really sorry about that. And thank you, that's very sweet. I'll see you at the cafe next week, then, huh?" You make to carry on with your journey, but the younger guy quickly says-

"Wait, where are you headed to? Would you like-um-would you like some company? I'm just wandering around, looking for 'creative inspiration'. I'd love to talk to you, you're kind of like my special muse...oh wait, that-that came out weird, that didn't sound creepy, did it?"

"It didn't, Luke, it was very sweet of you to say. I'm very flattered. But I'm actually meeting someone soon, so I have to get going." You attempt to 'let him down' as gently and tactfully as possible. His face falls, visibly crestfallen-

"Oh. Like, meeting a friend? Or a...a date?" Luke speaks quietly, as if eager to know, yet simultaneously embarrassed about asking.

"Meeting a friend-" You see his face light up, the disappointment vanishing instantaneously, "I've not seen him for a while. He's been going through a, um, difficult period in his life, so I thought I'd show him some moral support-" You explain, hedging drastically around the details of Bucky's issues.

"That's real nice of you. Ah, I'm sorry...I'm sorry for snooping like that. It's none of my business. It's just...I just...I guess I'm..." The student stumbles over his words, barely able to look you in the eye.

"Luke, it's okay." You reassure him kindly. "Now, I really do have to get going. It was nice seeing you. We'll talk more when you stop by the cafe next, okay?"

"Sure, yeah, definitely! See you later, [Your Name]!" He sounds enthusiastic.

"See ya, Luke." You trill, pressing on with your trek to Stark Tower.

 

You arrive at the spectacularly gargantuan building, pushing open the entrance doors, and are met with the sight of a stylish foyer- modern in its choice of decor-a fresh, citrus-like aroma in the air.

Two hulking security guards, in finely tailored suits, straighten their backs, intentionally making their presence known to you. You peer round to a curved desk, where a doe-eyed receptionist, with auburn curls, smiles across at you.

"Good morning! You must be [Your First Name] [Last Name]-Mr Stark said you'd be visiting. If you could just take a seat over there-" She points to a long, onyx-coloured leather sofa, "-and I'll tell Mr Rogers you're here, so he can come down and meet you."

"Sure thing." You take a seat on the cool leather, sinking ever so slightly into the slippery, squishy material.

Whilst waiting, you fidget relentlessly, bobbing your knees up and down, adjusting items of your apparel, 'fixing' your perfectly arranged hair-anticipating the meeting with Bucky. You wonder if he, too, is as anxious and eager as you are now. Is he pacing back and forth, knotting his fingers? Or is he planning how to greet you, rehearsing so he doesn't stumble over his words? On the other hand, you also take into account his prime concern-will he have another relapse, slipping into the deadly programming HYDRA forced into his mind? Bucky's head, you speculate, must be the battleground for two very different opponents, locked in an agonising conflict. There was the cold, indifferent ex-Soviet assassin, who'd been implanted into his mind time and time again, over the blank canvas left when _**he**_ -the true James Buchanan Barnes, loyal friend, brave soldier and, fundamentally, good man-was cast aside. Now, with Bucky Barnes returning-reclaiming what the Winter Soldier had used as a vessel-he faced a struggle with this parasitic 'persona' on a daily basis, all while desperately trying to fathom what'd he been before.

 _ **Poor Bucky. Jesus, I hope they can help him. Please, let him be okay**_ , you plead silently. You soon are plucked from the depths of rumination by a familiar voice-

"Hey, [Your Name]! How are you?" Steve calls out to you, walking into the foyer from a corridor further along. You smile fondly at the super-soldier, rising from the sofa.

"I'm great. How about you?" You ask, as he kisses your cheek and hugs you welcomingly.

"Doing pretty good, and all the better for seeing you! You look stunning."

"Thanks. You're looking handsome. No different than usual, though." You nudge him playfully with your elbow, and are rewarded with laughter from the national icon.

"You sure know how to charm a fella, [Your Name]. C'mon, I'll take you up to my floor-Bucky's dying to see you." Steve rests a hand between your shoulder blades, ushering you forward gently. Excitement bubbles pleasantly inside you, and you can barely suppress a delighted grin.

 _ **I'm seeing him, I'm actually seeing him. This isn't just a dream, it's HAPPENING!**_ You remind yourself.

 

Steve calls for the elevator, and as you wait, he openly queries you-

"So, how long did you spend getting ready this morning?" A wry smile plasters his face. You arch your eyebrows and give-what you hope to be-an enigmatic expression.

"A lady never tells her secrets."

"Four hours, I'm guessing?" Steve smirks.

"It was _**three and a half**_ actually..." You're unable to stop yourself from cracking a smile.

"Ahh, of course, _**not long**_ then." Steve remarks drily. You exchange amused looks, before sniggering at one another. "If it's any consolation, Bucky-I kid you not-spent a whole half hour deciding on what shirt to wear. You've clearly had one hell of an effect on him."

"That's...that's so sweet." You blush, smiling to yourself. "I hope it's a good effect?"

"Indubitably." Steve assures you, with his characteristic warmth.

The elevator doors slide open, and much to your surprise, you come face to face with two of Steve's fellow Avengers.

Tony Stark and Bruce Banner...

 

"Well, well, well, what have we here? More precisely, _**who**_ have we got here? Is this, per chance, the visitor you mentioned? Capsicle, you didn't mention she was such an enchanting specimen of womanhood." Tony says charmingly, his eyes roaming up and down the length of your body. You offer him a sceptical look in response.

"I didn't think it was something that you needed to know, Stark." Steve replies curtly.

"I would have thought you'd been around me long enough to know those kind of things are of great interest to me. Bruce, it's-it's like he doesn't know me at all!" The billionaire feigns panic. The mild-mannered doctor simply gives him a weary look.

"Unfortunately, I do." Steve steps into the elevator, and you follow him in.

"Shush now, Cap, you'll hurt my feelings." Tony retorts, completely unaffected. "So, you must be [Your Name]-it's a pleasure to meet you." He uninhibitedly clasps hold of your hand and raises it his mouth, kissing it delicately. "You must be here to raise Barnes' morale, because you sure are raising mine-" He adds salaciously.

"Tony!" Bruce chides the engineer. "I'm really sorry about him, he lacks a brain-mouth filter even at the best of times. It's lovely to meet you, Steve's told us about you. You've been a wonderful friend to him." He addresses you, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

"Oh dear, you're making me blush! Well, I'm glad to be getting such...positive reviews?" You look at Steve uncertainly. Both he and Bruce chuckle softly. "It's nice meeting you too. Steve's told me about yourself-he always has something good to say about you." You detect a faint tint of pink across Bruce's slightly swarthy complexion.

"Makes a change, I suppose." The scientist laughs.

"Hey, what about me? Hasn't he told you about all my brilliant attributes and achievements?" Tony pipes up.

"He may have brought up your case of textbook narcissism..." You joke, eliciting laughter from everyone in the elevator.

"So, when you say 'brought up', you mean he's given you an entire dissertation, with numerous references and credible sources?" Tony asks, a smirk playing at his lips.

"You think he's only given me _**one**_?" You jest, and the billionaire throws his head back as laughter fills the elevator.

 

"Aw, Rogers, I didn't know you thought about me so much!" Tony prods the super-soldier companionably in the arm.

"Despite what I say, Stark, you've somehow managed to worm your way into my heart. You may start seeing something of my softer side." Steve says, throwing a sideways glance at Tony-who simply snorts in response-

"Don't get too soft on me, Rogers, I prefer my men to be a little _**hard**_." Without a moment's thought, Tony reaches forward to lightly smack Steve on the backside. You cover your mouth to press back a loud squawk of bemusement. Miraculously, Steve reacts with a weary roll of the eyes and a languid smile.

"Tony, do you think you could, possibly, refrain from touching Steve in questionable areas of his body?" Bruce asks, oh-so-mildly.

"Ohhh, but Bruce, he's so hunky!" Tony whines like a petulant child. "The questionable areas of his body are my favourite areas..." Bruce all but sighs exhaustedly.

"Oh, would you look at that? We've reached my floor!" Steve quickly announces, as the doors slide open, frog marching you out.

"See you later, Steel Buns. How about we take it to my room tonight? There are _**two**_ reasonsTony Stark is called _**Iron Man**_ , and one of them has nothing to do with the suit-"

"Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?" Bruce inquires, as the elevator doors close.

"Well. That's not exactly how I hoped to introduce you to the others." Steve comments after a short silence.

"Let's be honest, Steve, how else was an introduction to someone like Tony Stark gonna pan out?"

"Very fair point." He concedes.

"Besides, as interesting and welcoming as they may be... I didn't come here to meet them."

"Of course." Steve gives you a knowing smile. "C'mon, follow me." He leads you through a small hallway, elegantly furnished with a attractive, modern decor. Opening the door slowly, he calls out gently- "Buck, guess who's here..."

Steve opens the door out wide, standing with his back against the wall, gesturing to you to enter his apartment. Nervously, you walk forward, clutching the straps of your shoulder bag. As you enter, you notice the room is bathed in sunshine, long panels stretching across the floor, the sleek, stylish furniture, and then...

You see him...

 

He's stood up, in front of the suede couch, as if in anticipation and expectation-a discarded book left open on the couch cushions. He looks the true definition of perfection-both handsome and beautiful-with the sunlight giving his ivory skin an enchanting peach glow, his incredible eyes focus on you like nobody else exists in that brief moment in time, and his glorious chocolate locks tied back leaving feathery bangs to frame his face like the masterpiece it is.

Although, regardless of how fantastic he looks, all of the physical features become minor details. It's his expression that truly holds your gaze. The look in his eyes, the faint glimmer of a smile, the softening of his face-all of these capture a range of emotions.

"Hi, Bucky." You speak quietly.

"Hi, [Your Name]." He responds serenely, his benign gaze upon your face unflinching. At the sound of his dulcet tone, the corners of your mouth stretch back, into a radial beaming smile. Your heart pounds quickly, and your whole body feels as light as a downy feather drifting on a summer's breeze.

Bucky's lips part slightly as he drinks in the sight of your adoring smile. His gaze becomes broken, dropping to the floor timorously. You notice the blush spreading across his face, the way his hands-held loosely at his sides-now come together, his fingers knotting nervously, and your heart swells with affection for him.

The sunshine flooding the room brightens, until Bucky is a silhouette, framed by a soft, pale golden glow. Walking towards him steadily, you see him more clearly.

 

"How've you been?" You ask, reaching forward-as soon as you're close enough-to touch his flesh hand. He looks up at you with those breathtaking eyes of his.

"Kinda all over the place..." He replies with a subdued frankness, returning his gaze to the floor yet again. "Things are coming back to me more frequently...but a lot of stuff...doesn't make sense. Then there's the really bad stuff. I've had a couple of sessions with Sam. He says we're gonna try out different kinds of therapy. I've told him about some of the things that, um, trigger me. How I feel, what I see and remember...I've told him about the nightmares, the...the bad thoughts...I've tried to tell him as much as I can, but there are still things _**there**_ , somewhere in my head, and I get this sick feeling when I try to....try to bring them to the surface, y'know..." His fingers close around your own. You remain quiet, allowing him to gather his thoughts.

"I'm afraid of what I'll remember. But maybe I need to remember them?" Bucky hesitates. "We're starting this thing called cognitive behavioural therapy. They use it a lot for war veterans, apparently. I don't feel entitled to be called a war veteran. I murdered people. Innocent people who got on the wrong side of HYDRA."

"It wasn't you though, Bucky. You were...you weren't really there..." You comfort him feebly.

"Sam says something similar. I might believe him one day." Bucky points out folornly. It takes every fibre of your being not to throw your arms around him and cry out in protest.

"I'm so sorry, Bucky." You squeeze his hand. He smiles bleakly.

"I'm sorry, too, [Your Name]. You've come to visit me and I'll end up making you miserable."

"Bucky, I don't expect you to hide away your feelings for _**my**_ sake. It's an incredible step for you to have taken just _**talking**_ about what you're feeling, being willing to go through with this therapy. At some point, you'll learn how to deal with these...these dark feelings, to start making sense of what's going on inside you. I promise you this, me and Steve- _ **especially**_ Steve-are gonna be with you every step of the way, cheering you on. We're so, _**so**_ proud of you, Bucky." You place your free hand against his face tentatively, cradling his cheek. Just as they'd done before, his eyelids flutter at your tender touch.

"I still don't really know why you've been so kind to me, or why you even care about me at all?" He wonders, a mystified expression etched into his face.

"Because I-" _**Love you**_? You catch yourself short, fearful of making things complicated between you and Bucky. He has so much already to deal with. Having someone he's known for barely a week proclaim their love for him would overwhelm him. You elect to tell a small lie-

"Because seeing as you made such a dramatic entrance into my life...I can't seem to imagine you leaving it so soon." You tell him, an impish smile on your face.

The lie is worth it, just to see him chuckle, to see his face light up.

You decide you'll tell him one day, when it feels **right** , when it feels like he can handle such a thing. For now, you'll be a much-needed friend to this incredibly vulnerable man.

Strangely enough, you don't feel upset or disheartened, because there is still a beacon of hope in the horizon. The most important thing right now...is that Bucky is back in your life, and you fully intend to keep him there. Lover or friend, you'll be rooted by his side, ready to build him up if he comes close to breaking apart. It doesn't even seem like a burden, even though it's no easy task-by any stretch of the imagination.

Somehow, it seems perfectly fine...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this was sufficiently sweet enough?
> 
> Also, happy Valentines day, everyone! Hugs and author-ly love to you all <3 ^.^


	11. Befriending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo, everyone! I know it's been a long time since I updated, so I decided to dedicate today to writing this chapter. Now I admit, it's possibly not the best in quality, nor is it the longest-simply because I had another unfortunate creative block with this story. That, and I was focused on some college projects, so I needed to plough on with work :3
> 
> Still, I hope this update isn't a disappointment to anyone, and that you enjoy reading it :D
> 
> P.S.Pretty please, with chocolate sprinkles on top, forgive any spelling/general errors :3

Yourself, Bucky and Steve are sat at their sleek, rectangular dining table, catching up on recent events since Bucky's departure from your apartment. Your gaze wanders, on occassion; sometimes to the dining table's centrepiece of vivid, tiger lillies, in a curved, glass vase, thinking how they don't entirely harmonise with the contemporary style of the place. More often than not, you find your eyes flickering across, seemingly of their own volition, to roam the terrain of Bucky's face. Listening to Steve give a concise, but no less sympathetic, account of events over the weekend-you feel a pressing urge to stay with the both of them, to be with Bucky and _**protect**_ him from the darkness that keeps seeping into his mind.

He catches your warm gazes each time, and his eyes shine with a genuine fondness, the outer corners crinkling slightly-as though he's smiling at you.

"...I guess we can glean from what's happened so far, and from what Sam's mentioned-is that there are...for lack of a better way of putting it...'good days and bad days'." Steve says, drumming his fingers lightly on the table.

"Not unlike most people in the world, really." You point out enthusiastically, though the uncertainty in your tone makes itself too blatant for your liking.

"Except without the guilt, depression, flashbacks, nightmares, hypervigilance, panic attacks, the violent behaviour..." Bucky remarks, a bitter edge in his voice. You offer an apologetic look, but he immediately relents- "I...I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"It's alright, Bucky."

"I don't want to take it out on any of you. It just...feels like there's so much wrong...that I can't help but wonder if it can be...I don't know- _**fixed**_ ? Maybe that's not the right word... _ **overcome**_ , probably. I'm sorry, I'm kinda going from peaceful to morose at the moment...my head's a pile of eggshells. Someone's footing goes wrong, they set something off in me." He rubs his eyes, gently swiping his thumb and forefinger over the closed lids. Feeling your heart swell for his troubles, an idea springs to mind, and you straighten up in your seat.

 

"I know! How about we talk about some random stuff? Anything at all, it can be stupid, it can be funny, it can be weird, it can be hilariously embarrassing-whatever comes to mind!" You suggest, sunnily. Steve's head cocks to one side, frowning in puzzlement. You pin him briefly with an intent stare, as though to non-verbally divulge your tactics of distraction. Being a sharp-minded guy, he catches on, and offers a dazzling smile.

"Sure thing! I'm game for that-how about you, Bucky?"

"Um...yeah, I can go with that. I'm probably not gonna be too great at coming up with anything, so...?" He gestures awkwardly with his metal hand.

"Not a problem. I'm sure me and Steve can come up with plenty of material!" You proclaim cheerfully. "I'll go first, shall I?"

"Knock yourself out, [Your Name]." Steve grins at you.

"Actually, this is kind of a random question aimed at you, Steve."

"Oh?" Steve's eyebrows quirk upward.

"The tiger lillies-" You point at the floral centrepiece, "-were they your choice? Or a present? Because they don't exactly...."

"Fit in?" Bucky finishes your sentence for you, even going so far as to wink mischievously at you. Unfortunately (or maybe not), you do a poor job of suppressing a smirk.

"Well...that _**is**_ a random question...um..." Steve hedges somewhat. "I kinda...picked them out, not because I like them as such...but someone who visits me-um...I mean, us- regularly is pretty keen on them." He sounds rather gauche in his response, so-predictably-your immediate response is to tease him playfully.

 

"Oooo, Stevie, have you got a _**lady friend**_ visiting you frequently?"

"Ha...ha....ahhhh...." Steve stutters and blushes. "Not exactly...but...um...I can't really explain...."

"Steve, I didn't realise you'd turned into such a stud." Bucky gibes affectionately, his mood appearing to lighten. You giggle, all the while smiling at the blushing national icon sitting opposite you.

"Yeah...um...let's go with that- a lady friend." He nods, avoiding eye contact with both yourself and Bucky.

"Did the lady friend buy you that extensive collection of your favourite music from the forties?" Bucky inquires, jerking his head in the direction of the stereo and the impressive stack of CDs shelved tidily beside it.

"Well. Yes. For my birthday. She, um, knew I wasn't all that fond of modern music. So she decided to, I guess, spoil me a little... and buy a ton of thirties' and forties' compilations. It was real sweet of her..." Steve turns his head to look at the stack of CDs, a smile on his lips. He appears to drift off, mesmerised by a thought.

"I'm definitely not complaining, Steve. It's...comforting... to have something of nostalgic value. Maybe I should listen to some? Might even help me remember more about the past." Bucky considers.

"It's worth a shot. Just as a starting point, a couple of your favourites were Frank Sinatra and Peggy Lee." Steve tells his best friend. Bucky enters a curious daze, a little too melancholic for your liking.

"Oh, they're good. Peggy Lee's 'Fever' is one sexy song-" You stop short of finishing your sentence, because of the blank looks on both men's faces. "Ah...'Fever' was released after you both-" You clear your throat. Steve flashes an understanding smile, not allowing you to flounder in the sudden discomfit.

 

"It's a real shame. We've got a lot of their stuff to catch up on, Buck."

"Maybe try some stuff from the fifties and sixties? There were lots of fantastic songs released then. But anyway-more random stuff! Steve, your turn!"

"Umm....oh, I got something. I loved going to Coney Island, even though Bucky made go on rides that had me puking my guts out afterward-" Steve leans toward Bucky, pinning him with a mock-accusatory glare. The brunet retaliates immediately-

"Hey, hey, who was the one who ended up with puke on their shoes? 'Cos it sure as hell wasn't you, punk!"

"Well then you shouldn't have dragged me onto those rides after feedin' me up with corn dogs and ice-cream, ya jerk!"

"Yeah, yeah-y'know, for a skinny kid, you could eat like a horse when the opportunity arose. [Your Name], did you know Stevie here-if I had enough money left for us-could work his way through two hamburgers, four corn dogs and a mint choc chip ice cream cone? The serum didn't have as much of an effect on his appetite as you may have thought!" Bucky reminisces. Steve's face lights up in joy at hearing his friend recall such detail. "C'mon, Stevie, let's talk about stuff in the present. Otherwise we're just two 'old timers' boring [Your Name]."

"Aw, Bucky, I don't mind. It's nice watching you two discussing fun memories."

"Hey, isn't it your turn to say something? I know, tell us about something embarrassing you've done-" Steve pipes up. You pout petulantly, pretending to scowl at him.

"I have enough of those moments to write a novel. Okay, fine, I'll spill the beans-"

 

You proceed to recount some of the embarrassing situations you've found yourself in ; ranging from funny to outright humilating. Both super-soldiers offer the reassuring mix of amusement and sympathy as response to your anecdotes, making you feel vastly more comfortable about opening up to them. Steve admits to having been in a number of uncomfortable social situations, made such by misinterprations about the modern world or as a result of being horribly (and possibly deliberately) misled.  
One incident included Steve mentioning to a woman on the subway, whilst on his way to meet with some of the Avengers for a sparring session, that he was going to be 'double-teaming' with them. Natasha, after promptly back-handing Clint across the head, had had to explain to Steve he'd been woefully misinformed by the archer and Tony on the definition of 'double-teaming', and that it had _**nothing**_ to do splitting into two groups of two for sparring, and swapping partners every so often.

Being the supportive friend you are, you burst into peals of laughter at his misfortune, gripping your stomach. Bucky snickers at Steve's past faux-pas unabashedly.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Steve....but that's...that's pretty funny..." You wheeze apologetically to the red-faced national icon.

"Yeah, I know. I'm still trying to make myself laugh at it, but I just keep seeing the scandalized look on that woman's face..."

"Those things _**will**_   haunt you..."

"I know that feeling." Bucky chimes. "Like with the microwave thing, and I-" He balks, quickly remembering the outcome of that particular incident. "-actually, you know what, never mind." You smile coyly at him, wiggling your eyebrows salaciously, triggering a rosy blush to spread across his face.

"What? What happened?" Steve demands, his interested piqued. "C'mon, Buck, tell me."

"Ahhh...no. No, it really doesn't matter." Bucky insists, flustering slightly.

"Go on, tell me!"

"Oh, here's something embarrassing- flashing my bare butt at Bucky, thinking he was asleep-" You slap your hand down on the table, with a cheesy grin on your face.

"What?!" Steve chokes out.

"I mean, it could have been worse. I was completely buff-o at the time-"

"What!" The blond repeats, utterly aghast.

"It's okay, Steve. It's fine. I've been naked in front of [Your Name]." Bucky 'assures' his dearest friend, as though his words are of actual consolation.

" _ **What**_?! What the-[Your Name], what exactly constitutes as 'looking after' in your mind?" Steve questions you, incensed.

"Steve, don't look at me like that. Bucky was the one taking his clothes off-"

" _ **Bucky**_!" Steve chides the ex-assassin like a horrified mother.

"Sorry, punk, we're only yankin' your chain." Bucky comforts the national icon, patting his arm gently and smiling wryly at you. The both of you titter away raffishly, watching Steve recover from the information.

 

The three of you spend the next few hours chattering away contentedly; recollecting amusing anecdotes, getting into friendly quibbles, discovering more about one another-although this was more the case for you and Bucky. It turns into a wonderful get-together filled with laughter, merriment and affection, leaving you feeling closer to Steve, and on the stepping-stones to true friendship with Bucky. The encounter seems to cast aside his troubles for a while and brings back the spirit-recognisable to Steve, you surmise-he was loved for in the past.

"Oh wow, how long have we been talking?" Steve peers around, in search of a clock.

"Three hours, I believe. Time flies by when you're having fun, right?"

"No kidding! You know, I think Bucky has a session with Sam, soon-so I'm loathed to say it, but we're going to have say goodbye now."

"We can do this again soon, though?" You inquire, looking from Steve to Bucky.

"Absolutely. Buck, would you-"

"Yes!" He replies without hesitation.

"I think he's on board with it." Steve chuckles. "Some time next week, perhaps? If you're free?" He offers.

"Definitely. Though it seems a shame to have to wait until next Friday. Would I be able to stop by on an evening, after work?"

"Of course. Actually, that gives me a good idea-how about we all have  dinner together? Next Wednesday night? I can make a pretty darn good serving of spaghetti and meatballs, if I say so myself! And maybe we could invite the others so you can meet them?"

"Aw, sweet, I'd love that!" You agree ebulliently, gathering up your purse and as all of you rise from your seats at the table. "It was great to see you both. C'mon, hugs before I go-I'm not leaving without some love!" You embrace Steve companionably, doing a swaying jig in his firm, warm hold. You then come face to face with Bucky, who suddenly appears uncertain and vulnerable.

"Bucky?" You hold out your arms cautiously, casting a hopeful look at him. He meets your eyes, edging forward steadily, with his flesh arm moving to hook around your shoulder. Your arms slowly enclose his waist, the space between you now non-existent. His metal arm remains limp at his side, in his reluctance to touch people with what he sees as a tool for brutality. Tenderly, you take his bionic hand into a careful grasp and bring it up, to rest on your shoulder. To your pleasant surprise, he neither protests or resists in any way.

"It's okay, Bucky..." You whisper softly, relishing the warmth of the embrace. With you both so close, you feel the strength of his heart beat, a soothing thrum against your chest. "It really was great seeing you again. I didn't think I would, not for a long time at least." You confess.

"I wasn't sure if I'd see you either. I'm glad you came." He says quietly, before confiding in a sotto voice- "I was missing you, [Your Name]. I was missing your smile..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is up for a little mystery solving, try and decipher Steve's awkwardness being questioned about the flowers. I won't tell you anything...but I shall be exploring that later on *laughs fiendishly*
> 
> Fingers crossed you liked this chapter ^.^ thank you for reading!


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